The Resurrection Effect
by Twisted Platypus
Summary: Two years have passed and the Collectors are here. The Reapers grow closer with each and every day and the galaxy balances on the brink of war. Tensions rise as entire colonies vanish without trace, hidden forces slowly tightening their grip. Even with Commander Shepard brought back to life, is there any chance of victory against a ruthless foe bent on galactic extinction?
1. Prologue

_Listen to my story. This... may be our last chance._

* * *

 **The Resurrection Effect**

 **Prologue**

* * *

"What's on the schedule today?" I ask, leaning against the railing next to Lazarus Project's leader.

"Confirmation that the treatment we tried yesterday was a success," Miranda replies distractedly, staring intently down at Shepard's body.

"So nothing physical. Nothing mental. Nothing that you specifically need me for," I probe. I'm the vice-head of the medical team, under Wilson. If there's a one-man job to be done, he's the one doing it. I don't like it. Not to mention it's boring.

"No," Miranda answers, still distracted. "The last three treatments should have worked. Why didn't they?" She straightens and turns abruptly, heading down to the operating room. "Coming?"

"And go through decontamination for fifteen minutes? No thanks," I rebut. Miranda is a certified genius and paranoid to boot. Together, they create perfectionism so complete that even the slightest chance of failure is intolerable. Hence, fifteen minute decontamination routines before you're even allowed to enter the room with Shepard's corpse in it. Just to watch, it's not worth it. There's a subtle stirring in my chest at the sight of the fallen Queen-commander. I wince. Commander. Not queen. Not royalty, majesty, authority, law, justice- stop. Just a human. Just a woman. As imperfect and fallible as the rest of us.

Funny thing is it's only around her that the Rachni is silent. Most of the time.

"Your readings are off," Miranda accuses Wilson. He's already down there, adjusting the precision settings on one of the robotic surgical machines.

A machine chimes, interrupting his vehement defence.

"What was that?" Miranda shoots the question at the medical head who shrugs, leaning in to the console to get a better look.

"It looks like she's reacting to outside stimuli…" He postulates. "Taking in light from her surroundings. She's showing an awareness of the world around her. My God, Miranda. I think she's waking up!"

The woman on the table stirs and my heart accelerates to a million miles an hour. No, it's not time yet. She's not ready! She'll die if she wakes up now! Miranda takes a big step forward, peering intently as Shepard's head turns to the side, just a little. Her mouth creases into a flat line. "She's not ready. Give her the sedative. Now."

The commander's hand rises from the steel table where it has rested for over eighteen months unmoving. Miranda takes the hand, lays it back down, speaking directly to the woman. "Shepard. Don't try to move. Everything's alright. Just lie still. Stay calm." The Cerberus operative's eyes meet mine for a second, worry written clearly across them. If I were there, I might have been able to calm her down. But I'd never make it in time.

"Her heart rate is climbing fast," Wilson cautions. "Brain activity climbing. Not good. It's not working!"

Shepard's head continues to move, shaking from side to side with increasing speed. _She's really waking up_. Miranda shoves Wilson aside roughly, giving orders as she moves. "Another dose. Now."

The effect is immediate. Shepard's eyes waver, eyelids closing once more. Her head slips down, lying flat on the table. "Heart rate dropping," Wilson confirms. "Stats falling back towards normal. That was close. We almost lost her."

Miranda leans over the commander, making sure she's under once again. "I told you your readings were off. Do the tests again. Properly this time."

My own heart thunders in my chest. I remember who the mole was in Project Lazarus. Hell, I'd been hoping that with all I'd achieved in the last two years there wouldn't be a mole in Project Lazarus. Seems I was wrong.

* * *

I wake up in my quarters, a few weeks later. As one of the medical heads of the Lazarus Project, I rate my own room. Just like every other morning I wake up with a ritual. This time I need it more than usual.

My name is Tobias Parker. I am twenty-four years old, born in Melbourne, Australia, Earth. I'm a biotic. I helped Commander Shepard stop Saren. On Noveria I was injured, saved from death by the last Rachni Queen at the cost of an as-of-yet unidentified form of hybridization. I worked with Liara and Feron to take back Shepard's body after the Normandy was destroyed by Collectors.

I did all this because this is not my first life. I lived before, died before I came into this life. I know parts of the future because I played them in a game in my previous life. I am an existence called an 'Anomaly'. I will stop the Collectors. I will stop the Reapers. That is the only purpose this life of mine has.

I splash some water against my face, looking into the mirror. The same slight, wiry frame stares back despite some part of me thinking I'm going to wake up with antennae. It's just a nightmare, I know that. My inner Rachni hasn't troubled me much since the Deathsinger went quiet, but I still have dreams. Worse than usual, since Shepard almost died again. Much worse.

I lean heavily on the sink, panting, spitting thick saliva from my mouth. It's just a nightmare. But my pupils are still dilated, my fingers still trembling. So much for my rational side. But no, it's not black eyes that stare back. My eyes are blue. It's not a bald, crimson chitin under brown hair. Under the close-cut beard is just skin and bone, not fangs and toxin.

My bare chest is- well. Let's just say the nightmares aren't completely unfounded.

I banish it from my mind, turning away from the mirror. Nothing I can do but endure.

Over the years I've adjusted to the point where Cerberus clothes have become the norm. They might technically be a human-supremacist terrorist organization with less moral boundaries than the Hegemony, but they make good quality uniforms. Silver linings and all.

Cerberus was nice enough to give me a private line outside the base too; or they would be if they knew about it. There are advantages to working with one of Illium's best information dealers and hackers.

Liara's scarred face fills my vidscreen, backdrop portraying a lively commercial plaza despite the setting sun. Illium is one of those places that never sleeps. Two years on, she still hasn't gotten the thin, lightning-esque scars from Saren's Warp removed, traces of them visible rising up her neck to the crown of her head. They're some kind of grisly trophy, I guess.

"Parker," Liara greets pleasantly, if not happily. The scarred Asari has been through a lot since the Normandy went down; I wouldn't have blamed her if she hated me as well. In the dying moments of the mission to reclaim Shepard's body, Liara had been gravely wounded by Feron's suicide bombing. The blast had compromised her body, rendering her unable to use biotics for the rest of her life. Every second of every day she lives in agony because of that moment. She turned all that fury and anger at the Shadow Broker and the Collectors, but I couldn't help feeling guilty. If I hadn't asked her to help, she wouldn't be a biotic cripple.

"Liara," I return. "How's business?"

"Well, thank you." No specifics, as usual. "Did you call just to exchange pleasantries?"

"Would it be so bad if I did?" My partner shoots me a flat look. "Fine, fine. I was hoping you might have more on Wilson. It's got to be any day now."

The Asari all but groans. "I've told you. If I find anything, I'll send it to you securely. I know you don't want to kill him or stop him, you know what he's going to do. Why do you need anything else?" I start to interrupt, but the information dealer speaks over me before I can get the words out. "I know. You've told me. You don't want to shut him down and risk him coming up with something you don't know anything about. I get it."

"But I-"

Liara shuts me up with a cold stare. "Parker. You work for me, correct?"

My jaw shuts so fast I hear a click. "Yes." I also work for Cerberus, the Alliance, maybe the Council, an odd job for Aria every now and then. Huh. I'm quite the mercenary these days. I never realised.

"Then you will do as I say. Monitor Wilson. Stop any attempt he makes at a power play. Gather information. Protect Commander Shepard above all else. Is that understood?"

"Understood," I reply sharply. Then my voice softens. "Sorry, Liara."

She sighs, the stern attitude evaporating. "I know. I'm sorry too. It's been a long, unpleasant day. I've had the Asari councillor breathing down my neck trying to find out what's going on. Your boss doesn't suspect anything yet, at least. Then there's the Shadow Hand, the STG, even Aria is starting to test the boundaries. Not to mention the others like you."

The mention of the other Anomalies of the galaxy always makes me tense. I've met a few in my time: the Asari and Turian, I think I've met the Salarian as well. Some I could tolerate. The others… not so much.

"I still feel like I'm not doing much as your Head of Operations," I refute.

"You might be my second in command but you're also a unique asset," Liara counters. "I need you where you are. I doubt I will ever have another prescient agent."

I groan. Not this again. "Goodbye, Liara."

Liara snuffs a chuckle. "Goodbye, Shinga. Good hunting."

* * *

Months pass. Miranda keeps a close watch on Wilson, not giving him the opportunity to mess up. If she suspects anything about him, she keeps it to herself. "Denied," Miranda answers curtly. "Again."

"Think about it," I say, powerwalking to keep up, shoving a datapad in her face. "The Collectors are running rampant over the Terminus System colonies; they've been pushing into the Traverse with increasing frequency. We're losing people left right and centre. It's been two years since anyone did some damage to them. We need her back as soon as possible. Now."

She knocks my arm away, never stopping. "I've read your report. The Illusive Man has read your report. We're in agreement. Even if Shepard could survive reanimation at the moment- which we don't know she can- it's better to wait until she's back at full strength."

"Her body _is_ recovered. She has a heartbeat. She is functionally alive. How long until they go after a big colony, one of the mid-rim worlds? So far we've been losing tens of thousands of colonists per raid. If they escalate even one step we'll be losing _hundreds_ of thousands, maybe millions in one shot. The Alliance isn't doing a thing. Isn't Cerberus supposed to _protect_ humanity? Not stand by and watch as the galactic bogeyman swoops in and-"

Miranda slams her hand against the corridor wall, effectively cutting me off. "I know. We know. We all know. You are not 'special' to consider this. We considered it long before your report ever touched my desk. We studied the possibility long before you ever did. We even calculated the probability that her mind would respond more ably to an injured body than a healthy one. We will not take chances with Commander Shepard. Not even one hundredth of a percent."

I know enough about Miri to know that I'm not going to win this one. When she gets serious like that no amount of pestering will budge her. She storms off, walking at a pace most people would almost consider a run. Damn enhancements. I have to bend the fabric of reality to move that quickly without running. I sigh and lower my head, still following.

She's not going to like Wilson's attempt to kill us all. By now Liara's pretty deep in the Broker's old files; she's confirmed that Wilson was a Broker asset. Still, better to let him try and fail than set up a whole new attack that I don't have pre-memory of. Post memory. Whatever.

Project Lazarus is now just over two years old. Just over two years since we managed to reclaim Shepard's body from a coalition of Collectors and Shadow Broker wetwork agents, two years and one month since Saren's failed attack on the Citadel, since the obliteration of Tayseri Ward. Two years and one month since almost half the citadel's population died from vacuum exposure.

It was a hard lesson. The battle cost the lives of the Turian and Asari councillors as well as the Destiny Ascension. Most of the Citadel Defense Fleet was destroyed and the Alliance fleets that responded to the distress call were badly mauled as well.

But most importantly, two years since Lazarus began means that Shepard is about to wake up.

Miranda takes her allotment of food from the canteen, deliberately sits at a table with one chair. Undeterred, I move a chair from another table and sit opposite her. "But you admit that it could happen," I try.

Miranda ignores me in favour of a can of juice. I wait for her to finish. "Theoretically," she concedes grudgingly. "Theoretically, yes. She could be fine. That's not reason enough to test it."

A flicker of light captures my attention and Miranda frowns. "What?" she asks as I peer past her.

"Nothing," I answer. Nothing looks out of place, but I'm sure I saw something. "Thought I saw something." Then the answer hits me like a speeding semi between the eyes and my barrier folds around me like a warm, green blanket. "Get down!"

Bullets ricochet from my defensive biotic field as I throw myself between Miranda and her assailants, a microsecond before Miranda's own cerulean barrier forms around her. The two LOKI mechs continue firing, little automatic handguns blazing through magazines. Shit, now of all times?

I flip the table over, hiding behind it. It won't stop bullets but it'll hide us from view and LOKI mechs are dumb as rocks. It should buy us a few seconds. Miranda and I alone, separated from everyone else, cut off. Now is the perfect time for Wilson's betrayal.

And I walked into it. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

"You alright?" I ask Miranda. The table is a tight fit for two, but we can manage. She has her own SMG out, expression confused but angry. She nods.

"Good," I comment, rising out from cover. Time to stretch some muscles. It's about twenty metres from here to the door where the two mechs are shooting. Green biotics flare, lowering my mass to almost nothing. I cover twenty metres in less than one-point-five seconds, slamming a fist encased in biotic energy into the robot's face. The mech's head flies clear of its body and the unit shudders, half-collapsing. I leap again, reduced mass taking me halfway across the room where I cling barehanded to the wall, two feet off the ground. The remaining mech struggles to track my speed, unable to get off another shot before the headless machine explodes in a shower of shrapnel, cutting its brother down.

All in all, the exchange lasted about four seconds.

Miranda pops out of cover, gun raised, trigger half pulled. Seeing only the smoking wreckage of a pair of security mechs, she frowns. "What was that?"

I shrug. "Lower mass means less force required to move. If you're careful you can keep your muscle mass up, your body mass low and move pretty damn fast."

"Not that," Miranda rolls her eyes. "The mechs. What's going on?" She raises her omnitool, speaking into it. "Prodigal to security. Prodigal to security. We just got attacked by mechs in the cafeteria. What's going on?"

Nothing but static. "Signal jamming." Miranda curses. "I can't even get a readout on the station from here. We need a communication terminal. This is just like that incident last year…"

Yes, the great 2184 incident. The moment that someone infiltrated the station, disabled all the security systems, turned on the sprinklers and stole Shepard's spare-organ clone. I really wish I'd been on-station at the time because that's going to come back to bite us all in the ass in a year or so.

"This can't be a localised incident like last year," I comment, knowing full well it isn't. "We have to consider the whole station a combat zone." Explosions sound in the distance, a faint scream echoing through the station. Wailing sirens flicker on, emergency red lighting pulsing from the walls and ceiling. Yeah, definitely a combat zone.

"Let's go," Miranda shouts over the noise, talking as she moves. I step in front of her, leading her.

"Let's be clear. You haven't shot at a real enemy in two years; I've been doing ops in the field when I wasn't needed here. So in combat I'm calling the shots."

Lawson hesitates, but nods. "Fine. But our first priority is Shepard."

"Damn straight," I mutter. "Like hell I'm letting some asshole kill her now after we brought her back from the grave."

Shepard's surgical room is in the middle of the station, not close to us at all. Another reason for Wilson to make his move now.

"Who's on guard shift at the med bay?" I ask. Miranda replies after only a second's contemplation.

"Finnegan." At least that's something. Finnegan's a good marine, if not the most imaginative soldier. Best of all, he's level-headed enough to keep Shepard alive. Hopefully.

"Security hub is closer than the medbay and goes past a comm terminal," I point out. "We might be able to stop all of this before it gets too out of hand." Not to mention the security hub was where I worked Liara's program into the security system. Even if Wilson's shut down the whole network, I can get in and shut the whole system down. No mechs, no problems.

"Maybe," she says, ducking behind a corner as a squad of four LOKIs turn a corner, almost running into us.

"Enemies located," the first LOKI reports in its dull monotone, weapon raised. Damn.

"At least we didn't shell out the extra credits for individual shielding!" I call, throwing a curving ball of biotic force. The throw knocks down the first mech, stumbling and impeding the one behind him. Miranda blasts the leader of the second column with an overload, following the tech attack with a trio of gunfire. I keep unleashing throws, slamming the two mechs into walls and ceilings, shaking their targeting processors and incapacitating them. Miranda blows the arm off one of her mechs, leaving it weaponless. It turns tail to run, only to be gunned down from behind.

"How many security mechs are on the station again?" I ask warily. A group of five, six, even eight we can probably blow through without too much trouble. After that, things get a bit trickier.

Miranda's frown tells me all I need to know. "Seventy five LOKI mechs at last inventory. Make it ninety if our mystery hacker manages to get the damaged mechs in maintenance active. A two dozen FENRIS mechs and a squad of ten YMIR heavy combat platforms."

"Compared to how many Cerberus troops on-station?"

"Twenty five. Six of them biotics. The medical staff has some combat training, but even then our numbers only make thirty five including eight biotics. Counting ourselves."

Thirty five people against around one hundred and twenty five machines. Fantastic.

"We're almost at the comm terminal," Miranda notes and I refocus. LOKI mechs might only be really dangerous in large numbers, but all it takes is one to get lucky.

I poke my head gingerly around the corner. My barrier can take a lot of hits from a LOKI's gun, but the idea of sticking my head into a wave of bullets still isn't appealing. The terminal is guarded by just over two squads of mechs, ten in total. Four FENRIS mechs keep watch with them, twitching from side to side. I relay the information to Miranda and she bites her lip. There's no cover between us and them and the only gun we have between us is Miranda's Shuriken SMG.

Time to show off a bit, I guess. Hell, sitting around doing medical things gets boring pretty quickly and I've been training like hell for two years. I toss a verdant orb of green energy into the middle of the mechanical formation, blossoming into a small but effective singularity. Not as good as Liara might manage, but not half bad for only a few months practice. Six mechs are swept up into the gravatic hole, flailing helplessly. The four FENRIS mechs charge at us instantly, displaying either suicidal overconfidence or reckless bravery. Or really bad threat-analysis software. Potentially all three.

Miranda drops the first FENRIS with an overload before her biotic aura deepens. I grab her hand, directing the Warp away from my singularity and into the snout of one of the charging dog mechs. "Biotic detonation would wreck the terminal," I call, raising my voice over the sound of battle. She grimaces and nods, blazing away at the freewheeling droids with her SMG. The first FENRIS reaches me and lunges, electroshock plating ready to taser me into submission. Unfortunately for it, I'm prepared.

I punt the dog-bot in the face. Normally, FENRIS mechs are designed to take a heavy beating and still fight back. On the other hand, my foot hits with the approximate kinetic energy of a Black Widow rifle and my barrier easily absorbs the electric retaliation. The robot flies back away from me with considerable force, striking an unencumbered LOKI mech in the shins. The bipedal mech goes down like a sack of bricks, struggling to right itself with crushed leg plating.

The second dog robot keeps charging, only to be met by my left boot. At this point, I'm starting to think bad coding.

With the terminal thus cleared, Miranda opens a direct line. As part of her paranoia she'd insisted that there be literal wired communication lines dotting the facility. It's old tech, but it's impossible to shut down without physically cutting the lines. Given the security measures in those shafts, anything going in the vents won't be getting out in one piece. While Miranda logged in, I pull up a schematic of the station itself on my omnitool. If Lazarus Station is running out of air or falling into a sun, I want to know.

"I've got Shepard," Lawson calls, steadying herself as a chain of explosions rip through the station. I have to anchor myself to the floor with biotic force to stop myself from falling over. Fuck, that was a big one. An explosion on a space station isn't like a blast on a planet; everything is so tightly packed and organized in space that no matter the size of the blast it's almost sure to take out something critical.

"I've got a station schematic online. Checking for damage," I report.

"Wake up, commander. This is Miranda Lawson. Do you hear me?" Miranda enunciates, forcing herself to be heard over the wailing klaxons. "Shepard, you have to get out of that bed, _now_. This facility is under attack." She flips off the microphone, looking over with a mixture of relief and worry. "She's moving. She's alive." Then she hesitates. "Let's hope your study was correct."

"I've got some bad news," I wince. "Those explosions? The security hub is gone. Blown to pieces. Nothing left." So much for my backup plan. With no security hub, I can't input my override code. Shit.

Miranda grimaces. "Shepard," she says, turning back to the console. She grips the terminal so hard her knuckles turn white. "Your scars aren't healed yet but I need you to move. This facility is under attack."

"I've got motion tracking," I report. A schematic of the station flickers to life, coloured blips moving where station telemetry still works. A quick filter makes organics blue, leaving mechs red. Finnegan's blip outside the med bay door still shines. He's still alive.

Even so, there are a lot less than thirty five blue blips.

"There's a pistol and armour in the locker on the other side of the room," Miranda reports calmly into the microphone. "Hurry."

"I've got major mech movement towards the medical wing," I point out. "Dozens of mechs inbound from all over the station. Whoever is directing this, they're going for the jugular."

"Grab the pistol and armour from the locker," Miranda coaches. How she manages to keep her tone even semi-calm, I'll never know. "Can you identify mech types?" Lawson asks.

"Not really. Just blips." I shoot her a schematic, a route lined in green. "If we want to link up with her, this is the best route she can take." Miranda nods, examining the path.

Finally, Shepard speaks. I swallow a smile. She's really back!

"This pistol won't fire," she reports, surprisingly placid. I hope she doesn't have any sedatives still floating through her system.

"It doesn't have a thermal clip," Miranda explains. "It's a med bay, not an armoury. You'll find some outside."

"I've got a temperature warning!" I caution. "Heat sensors near the med bay doors are off the charts. Compromised fuel cell."

"Damn. Those canisters by the door are about to blow," Miranda urges. "Get into cover now!"

Another explosion rips through the station, but Shepard's blue blip is still moving. I code her green, make it easier to keep track. The blue blip outside the door winks out for good. Fuck. "We just lost Finnegan," I report. "Killed in the blast." Miranda curses.

"Someone's hacking security trying to kill you," Miranda explains to Shepard. "Take the thermal clip from Finnegan's pistol," she orders. Might as well get some use out of it. Let the dead mourn the dead. "Looks like he was trying to set up a barricade to hold the mechs off."

"One mech incoming on Shepard's position," I report, my own voice showing stress. "Coming down the stairs. Diagnostics must be faulty through H-wing."

Shepard blows the mech away, and the two of us sigh in relief. Shepard might be alive, but there's no telling how her skills are after two years of death. "Keep moving, Shepard." Miranda encourages. "We have to get you to the shuttle bay."

"Two more from the front," I caution. "Three more coming from the maintenance shaft."

"More approaching your position," Miranda relays. "Take cover. Stay safe and take them out."

I let out a breath as the last red dot winks into nothingness. "Nice work, Shepard," Miranda compliments. She turns to me, irritation in her eyes. "Can't you slow the mechs down?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" I scoff. "I'm throwing false trails everywhere I can see to put them, shutting every door I can access. Even then, YMIR's just blow right through them."

Miranda scowls, but nods. Another two blue blips vanish, blown away by a YMIR's rocket. Shepard's green dot moves past them and I groan in relief. "YMIR's out of missiles. It can't get through the glass with just machine cannon fire." I curse. "Another squad just popped onto the grid. They're closing in. We have to get her to break through the encirclement."

"Grab the grenade launcher on the floor," Miranda orders. "Prepare for contact."

"We've got trouble," I grunt.

Four red dots storm across the walkway, abruptly disappearing as Shepard obliterates them. "Take the elevator down one floor," Miranda orders. "Run through the fire, it'll keep the mechs off your back." She cuts the microphone, staring at me heatedly. "What, Parker?"

"A full battalion closing in on us," I report, face drawn. That's more than half the surviving mechs on the station and it's not like there are any other Cerberus people nearby. Now that the numbers of active defenders are below a dozen, the mechs are sweeping the station for survivors. Wilson is directing them straight to us. Bastard. He must have tracked our location through the terminal network. "My system is failing." The terminal fuzzes, flickering in and out of view. "We're being shut down."

"You're doing great, Shepard. Head to the next room and a friend will meet you there." She turns away from the microphone.

Miranda's comm terminal is dying as well. "Shepard, do you read me? I've got mechs closing in on my position. Do you read me?"

Our terminals die, cracking and shorting out with a sputter of sparks. "Fuck. We lost her."

"You sent her to Jacob?" I question, stepping back from the terminal.

"He'll be able to get her to the shuttle bay. He knows the procedures. He won't waste time."

Wasting time, like trying to help survivors. She's right, of course. Without Shepard this project means nothing. The lives of everyone else on the station are a cheap price to pay if it means she survives.

"I pulled a user-log off the terminal just before it went down," I lie. At least it's a plausible lie. "The only other user online at the time apart from you and me was Wilson. He's the one hacking the mechs."

Miranda hisses. "I knew it. It wasn't an accident when Shepard nearly died. That coward."

"Shuttle bay?" I ask. She nods. "Jacob better get her there in one piece."

"He will," she assures me. "He's a good man."

A barrage of gunfire hammers against the blast door. "We're running out of time," Miranda confirms. "We have to get to the shuttle bay."

The two of us take off running, leaving the sparking remains of the terminal behind us. "At least the mechs are slow," I joke. Miranda shoots a glare so cold I can almost feel the frostbite. Right, Miranda's probably taking this as a personal failure. Best not to joke.

"Keep moving," she grunts, slipping into a side tunnel. All the security measures protecting the vents died with the destruction of the security hub, and only LOKI mechs can follow into this narrow aperture.

We drop into a narrow maintenance corridor, two LOKIs waiting for us. Miranda lifts one into the ceiling before crushing it into the floor, biotically slamming it to death. The second reacts quicker, flickering with electricity before discharging and knocking her back. It raises its gun, close enough that her barrier won't save her. I grab it as it aims, flaring green with power and tossing it over my shoulder in a judo throw. Unlike a regular shoulder throw, the mech hits the ground so hard it compacts into a metal pancake an inch thick.

"Didn't know you knew Judotics." Miranda pants as I help her to her feet. "Impressive."

"The Alliance has been working on it for a while," I confirm. "I got one of my people to duplicate the project files. I've been working on it for the last few months." It doesn't run the risk of breaking your fingers when you punch something, which is a nice benefit.

"I've never been through this way before," I ask. "How close are we?"

"Not far," she reassures. "Only one wing over. Most of the mechs can't follow through the vents and the rest were sent after Shepard. We'll be mostly in the clear from now on."

The next few rooms and corridors are clear, save for the bodies of broken machines and blood adorning the walls. At each body, Miranda checks for a pulse. "Wilson's going to pay for this," she vows. She knew everyone on the station personally, selected them all herself. Colleagues, friends, advisors, operatives. Subordinates. People she trusted and respected. Now all of them are dead.

"The Lazarus Project will not fail," she declares, addressing the corpses. "And you will all be avenged."

I wait for her to finish in silence. Miranda rarely shows emotion, rarely allows anyone to glimpse what's behind the frigid exterior. But despite the rumours and gossip, Miri does care.

Of all the people in the galaxy she cared for, around three quarters of them were on Lazarus Station.

"It's just one room over," Miranda says. "If Wilson has any brains at all, he'll have set a guard. Be ready."

I nod, taking over and opening the door carefully. Heavy stomping sounds through the walls, the door. A YMIR. Great. Heavy shielding, composite titanium plating. This thing's going to be a bitch. Whirring machine gun fire roars through the open doorway, pinning us down. The thumping of footsteps intensifies, getting closer.

"I'm not so good with shields that thick!" I call. "I'll draw its attention, you take them out!" Miranda nods.

I step through the open doorway, instantly tracked by the YMIR's heavy machine gun. The black barrel looms, the world almost slowing down as the danger kicks my mind into overdrive. I know these machines, studied them. They can track a marine running full tilt without difficulty, even with acrobatics thrown in. If a YMIR locks onto you, it fills you with holes big enough to fit a fist.

A normal human, that is. I lower my mass carefully, keeping my muscle mass high. By the time I take my second step I'm travelling faster than any normal human can move. By the third, as fast as a cheetah in full sprint. The YMIR turns to track me, bullet holes appearing in the walls a step behind me with harsh, percussive thunder. The massive machine stumbles slightly as Miranda's overload drains a portion of its shields, abandoning me and returning its focus to the Cerberus leader.

"Ignore me and pay, asshole," I taunt, ducking in close and slamming a biotically-assisted kick into the side of its knee, magnifying my leg's mass to half a ton in the moments before impact. Electricity races up my body, stinging and burning. I feel something crack and pain shoots through the bone, but the attack works. The mech's leg crumples, caving in and ruining its balance. The robot falls heavily onto its side, massive machine gun still blazing away at Miranda's location from the ground. I'm lucky it fell that way; if it collapsed the other way around I'd be the one in the firing line. I hobble backwards on a cracked shin, accessing a touch of the Rachni ability the last Queen gave me. Life flows back to my battered leg, healing the fracture. Back to full strength.

Using Life Transfusion comes with a cost, of course. It always does. But after two years of experimentation and experience, it's not like it used to be. Using Life Transfusion rouses my inner Rachni, overusing it threatens to drive me by instinct, override higher reasoning. But if I can confine it to specific parts of the body, the effect is cut in half or more. Healing a localised fracture just makes me a touch more _hungry_.

I conjure a warp around my hand, directing it into the immobile machine's torso. The corrosive biotic field eats through armour and wiring alike, disintegrating its CPU. The lights of the great mech's faceplate dim, its heavy machine gun slowing until it doesn't fire again.

Miranda emerges from behind shredded cover none the worse for wear. She observes me for a long second before nodding in approval. "You've become more competent over the least two years."

I make an elaborate bow. I'm rather pleased with my progress, actually. I might not be at Rakora's level, but I'm a lot closer.

'Docking Station 2' the inscription over the door reads. This is it. Now we just have to wait for Shepard.

"Come on," someone says through the other side of the door. I smile. The door slides open, cutting off the end of the speaker's sentence. "We're almost at the- Miranda…? But, you were-"

Miranda's expression turns to outrage in an instant. She cuts Wilson off by shoving her SMG in his face, pulling the trigger and venting the doctor's brains all over the walls. "Dead?" She quips, venom in her voice.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jacob exclaims, bending over the corpse. There's no hope for Wilson, that's for sure. The marine glares up at his partner in shock and confusion.

"Easy Jacob," I steady him, arms crossed. Tempers are already frayed enough. "She was just doing her job. Wilson was the one behind the sabotage."

Shepard stops for a moment, her gun lowered slowly. "Parker? Is that really you?"

I shot a look at the ex-Corsair. "You didn't tell her?"

Taylor shrugs. "We didn't exactly have time for Twenty Questions."

"You're with Cerberus?" She asks, voice cracking. Anger or shock or betrayal, I can't tell.

Miranda rounds on Jacob. "I should have known your conscience would get the better of you," she jokes.

"I wasn't going to lie to her," the marine retorts, missing the joke. I roll my eyes.

Shepard shakes her head, focusing on Miranda. "Even if you were sure he was behind it, did he deserve that?"

Miranda fixed the commander with a long stare. "He sabotaged the security systems, killed my staff to a man and he would have killed us or worse."

Jacob still looks shocked. "Are you sure? We've known Wilson for years. Could he do something like this?"

I poke Wilson's leg with my toe. "Not anymore," I sniff in satisfaction. I never did like the guy.

"Anything you want to know before we leave," I ask Shepard. It should be fine. Wilson was directing the mechs and now he's dead.

"Convenient that you show up now," Shepard muses pointedly.

"Wilson figured out we were helping you," I retort before Miranda has a chance to. "He sent an army of mechs our way. We got here as soon as we could."

"What about survivors? We have to go back and look." Same old Shepard, I see. I shake my head.

"We're everyone," Miranda says softly. "We had telemetry going while we were directing you. We're it."

Jacob swallows, his eyes turning mournful. He had a lot of friends here, too. I never really socialised with the others on the project. It just seemed like a bad idea.

"Shepard," I comfort, placing a hand on her armoured shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."

* * *

 **CODEX: Asari Republics Biotics Ranking**

Matron Sarrasari,

As requested, here is the most recent iteration of the list compiled by the Church of Athame. Each message will contain one datafile, image and video links included. As requested, we have begun transmission with Rank #3 of the list. If you have any further questions or points of clarification regarding the information below, you may reply to this address. As a matter of internal security certain information has been restricted and redacted from some records. The Church thanks you for your understanding.

 _Name:_ Tetrimus Rakora

 _Aliases:_ Mouth of the Shadow Broker

 _Rank:_ 3

 _Species/Gender:_ Turian Male

 _Age:_ Unknown, speculated late forties (Cabal records sealed, inaccessible)

 _Residence:_ Unknown, presumed numerous Shadow Broker facilities

 _Position:_ Leader of the Shadow Hand subdivision (unclear, information uncertain), Enforcer for the Shadow Broker

 _Basic History:_ High-ranking Turian Cabalist, deployed in dozens of black operations over two dozen years, flawless record. Sole survivor of his Cabal during the Relay 314 incident, captured as prisoner of war before escaping. Later officially listed as MIA by the Turian Hierarchy after his failure to return after cessation of hostilities. Recruited by the Shadow Broker and has served him faithfully.

 _Specialty:_ Biotic Beam. Church researchers postulate that Rakora's Beam is a high-density eezo construction initially developed from the techniques Charge, Shockwave and Pull. A minor Relay transit corridor is created, the victim pulled into the corridor's eye as consecutive Shockwaves, accelerated and destabilised by the transit corridor, destroy the target completely down to the last molecule.

 _Threat Analysis:_ Extremely high, flee on sight. Rakora's mastery of battlefield technology, biotics and weaponry make him an exceptionally dangerous foe that no being in the galaxy should treat with anything less than the utmost caution. A specialist sniper before his defection from the Hierarchy, Rakora's signature biotic 'beam' imitates this preference obliterating anything in its path without warning. Unlike many ranked biotics on this list Tetrimus is as effective with conventional tools of battle; this multitude of talents inflates Rakora's threat level far beyond any other individual on this list, his biotic prowess alone enough to secure third discounting all other skills. If confronted, the Church recommends immediate disengagement and withdrawal. If conflict is absolutely necessary, deploy Phase Inhibitors to prevent biotics and deploy numerous commando teams and/or aerial strikes for best effect.

 _Biotic Potency Levels:_ Force - 10, Discrimination - 8, Surge - 5, Reserve - 10

* * *

 _AN: It seems like it's been years, but we're back! It's been a much longer hiatus than I had planned or enjoyed, to be honest, but I can't say I'm disappointed. Being a dad is definitely the best thing I've ever done, even if it does suck up all your free time in an inescapable black hole of infinite cuteness. Nonetheless, we're back in the game! I'm definitely more excited about this story than I was about Transmigration or Reclamation; it wouldn't be untrue to say that this was the mass effect story I wanted to tell, the core of the idea that put me on this Self-Insert Transmigration Saga as a whole. Mass Effect 2 was the game that got me into this series and I have got a metric ton of content both original and canon-based that will come to the forefront in this story. While the line that made this story AU I feel was crossed with the Reclamation Effect, this is where I want to take another half-dozen steps away from the beaten track. To reiterate, this **will not** be a simple canon retelling. It will have canon missions and themes for the most part, but I promise that events will play out in unexpected directions, new motivations and catalysts will arise and it will not be the Mass Effect 2 you know, nor will it leave the galaxy in the same state as ME2 did. There will be similarities, but also changes that will alter the greater universe in the same vein as the beat of a butterfly's wings._

 _Also, I want to make this super clear, so: Although this is part of a series, you_ **CAN** _read this story first, without reading Transmigration or Reclamation. In some ways I even encourage it, since with the benefit of hindsight I would like to change a lot of my first two stories..._

 _Updates to this story will be a little more chaotic than the previous segments; with my family taking up the lion's share of my time I promise I will update with consistent quality as fast as I can- it may be weeks or months between updates but they will come._

 _Away from the plot stuff for a while, I need to thank a few people for keeping me in the saddle despite the passage of time. My wife, **the extroverted recluse** , and **DelVar0** are the biggest two, by far. Both have kept me honest and have been amazing sounding boards for ideas. Of special note is Del's story **Massed Up 2** , which I have the unique privelige of knowing some future plot twists- believe me when I say that it is going to be a hell of an awesome ride and you don't want to miss it if you're a fan of ME fanfiction. Also, his author notes are like a comedy of errors at times, but he's a bloody legend in true Australian fashion. Finally, **LogicalPremise** deserves a huge shout-out for his incredible work compiling and creating the **The Encyclopedia Biotica** and his generosity in allowing me to reference his original characters. If you haven't read it, I encourage you to do so immediately whether you're an author or a reader- it goes into so much wonderful depth and it really fleshes out the world of biotics. _

_In the end though, trite as it seems, I'm most grateful to the people who vote with their eyeballs, who actually read this story. It's written for you, to hopefully brighten your day a bit. For everyone who has stuck around from the start, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you have (or are) giving a review, follow, favourite or even just skimmed the chapter in five minutes I'm grateful to you. I hope it's worth the wait._


	2. Discretion

_Discretion is a spy's best friend. Learn when to use it, and when to let it slip._

* * *

 **The Resurrection Effect**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 _Dis·cre·tion (noun)_

1\. The quality of behaving or speaking in such a way as to avoid causing offence or revealing confidential information.

2\. The freedom to decide what should be done in a particular situation

* * *

Lazarus Station is gone, left behind. Cerberus teams will sweep and destroy it, removing any evidence. Miranda and I rest on the shuttle's benches, Jacob in the driver's seat. Miranda goes straight to business, of course. She always did have a knack for taking her mind off depressing things with endless work. Things like being betrayed by your second in command and watching most of your friends die to merciless robotic gunfire.

"Shepard, we're going to do a psychiatric evaluation," Lawson begins. "Check your memories, your higher functions."

"Is that really necessary?" Jacob interjects. "I can vouch for Shepard's combat abilities personally. She's who she was."

"Combat doesn't reveal everything, Jacob," Miranda points out. "It's been two years since her brain has seen any activity. We have to be thorough."

"Did you say two years?" Shepard interjects. Her face is drawn, pale. "I've been… gone… for two years?"

"A little over two years and two months altogether," I confirm, speaking for the first time since we left Lazarus Station. Having her back, it's almost like she never left. Almost like the last two years never happened. I feel like a raw novice again, scrambling to be of any use. I know better, obviously. Too much has happened over the last two years for me to forget that easily. The Shadow Broker. Cerberus. More than that, things that even now I won't name.

"For most of that time you were on an operating table," Jacob adds. "You weren't just in a coma. You were dead in every sense of the word."

Tactful, Taylor.

"You understand why we need to ask these questions," Miranda interjects, bringing the conversation back on topic. Shepard nods in stunned silence. I guess it's a lot to take in. For her, it probably only seems like a day. Miranda starts with ordinary things; name, birthplace, age. Then it gets to her service record.

"You defended Elysium from a major Batarian slaving incursion almost singlehandedly whilst on shore leave. You rallied the local colonial militia and pushed the invaders back. How did you manage it?"

"There wasn't another option," Shepard answers, voice dazed. "If I didn't, the colony would have fallen. I just kept remembering Mindoir, kept remembering everything that happened there and I couldn't. I couldn't give in. I fought. I killed. I convinced people to help somehow."

Miranda watches Shepard's expression for a long second before nodding. "A few months later, you led a raid on the pirate fortress-moon of Torfan. Over eighty percent of your command died. How did the mission end?"

If Shepard was drawn and pale before, now she's simply white. "I killed them all," she whispered. "All of them. I just kept seeing those pirates that killed my family and I… I murdered them."

"Nobody's blaming you, Commander," I reassure her and Miranda nods. "You gave humanity a place in the galaxy, stopping those slavemongers." Hah. Me spouting Cerberus propaganda. Maybe I've been around them too long.

"There's no judgement," Miranda echoes. "All we need is to confirm that you remember the facts." I wince. Miranda is _cold_ when she's withdrawn. No judgement, but no compassion either. "Later you were made the first human Spectre and assigned to stop the rogue Spectre Saren. The mission was most difficult at Saren's base on Virmire. Two of your squad fell in the fighting. Who died in that battle?"

Urdnot Wrex. Ashley Williams.

Shepard just mouths the words, not even having the strength to say the names. I know what she's thinking, even if it's not true. Failures, both. She failed to keep them alive.

"Last question," Miranda admits, iciness melting a touch at the tortured look on Shepard's face. "After the Battle of the Citadel and humanity's ascension to the Council, who did you nominate as humanity's representative?"

"Captain Anderson," she replies. At least she can say the name. "I recommended Captain Anderson for the position."

Miranda nods, turning to me. "We really should run some more tests…"

Jacob and I both grimace. Miranda's perfectionism needs to be reined in sometimes. "Knock it off, Miranda," Jacob says. "We all know the memories are there. And her combat skills are as sharp as ever."

I just nod in support and Miri sighs. "Alright. We'll just have to hope that The Illusive Man accepts our unexpected field test as evidence enough. Try to get some sleep, Shepard. We'll be there soon."

Shepard falls asleep in moments despite the uncomfortable seat. I don't. I keep having nightmares whenever I sleep and I don't need the rest as much as the others. So I stay awake, just watching the stars. Miranda tried to relieve me but I told her I wouldn't sleep anyway. She didn't put up much of a fuss; she's been burning the candle at both ends for a while. Eventually Minuteman Station emerges from the haze of FTL travel, hanging in between the stars like a primitive idol. Or maybe a massive upside-down bridge.

Shepard is alive. A part of me never thought it would happen; death is _death_ after all. It's supposed to be permanent. Even with me, death means a new beginning. Now that she's back… I don't know. I thought I'd be ecstatic. Overjoyed. I was for a little bit. A part of me still is. I'm just not sure if it's the human part.

Mostly I feel scared and worried. Not in the way I've been scared for the last two years, going from project to project and fighting for my life. We're going up against the Reapers again and the Collectors, their favoured soldiers. It's going to be messy. Bloody. Some of the people we recruit for this mission aren't going to come back. I might be one of them. Sometimes I think I'd just be better off leading my own group. Then I see who I'm sitting next to and I know I can't turn my back on this.

* * *

We wait as Shepard enters the QEC chamber, converses with TIM alone. It's all need to know stuff, or filling her in on old events. None of us really talk much once Shepard leaves and I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not. I mean, the last two years of work and research and heartache is done. We did it. Great.

Now it's on to the next project. Never speak of Lazarus to anyone else ever again. Operational security, no exceptions. Forget you ever met them. This is the exception, but otherwise it's how Cerberus is run.

At length someone else enters the room, someone with a limp I'm all too familiar with. A rare honest smile crosses my face; dare I say it's good to see an old face again.

"Joker," I call, waving him over to the seats. "Good to see you again. I figured you'd forgotten about me."

The crippled pilot cracks a smartass grin. "What, forget your ugly face? How could anyone ever do that? Seriously though, you didn't get any of my letters?" He turns to Miranda who meets his gaze easily. "You don't still think I'm a security risk or something do you? I'm insulted. "

"Not at all," the cell leader retorts, crossing her legs nonchalantly. "I simply halted all mail that came to Lazarus Station. Nothing personal."

"I kept getting updates from Phoenix," I volunteer. I know Jacob and some of the other base staff kept getting off-site mail too.

"Yes, but those messages never asked if you had, and I quote, 'tapped that yet', Parker."

Joker unrepentantly raises his eyebrows in silent question, grinning like a maniac.

Miranda favours the pilot with an artic glare. "I don't like you."

"I'll take that as a no," Joker counters, clapping me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, now that I'm here you shouldn't have any trouble. Though if you call me your wingman I swear I'm going to shoot you. That joke has been used way too much. Especially since I can actually fire a gun now."

Jacob finally saunters over, bored of killing time by himself. "Jeff Moreau, right? I'm Jacob Taylor, been working with Parker and Miranda. I saw the Normandy records but I never knew you two were that close," he commented, sizing the pilot up.

"On the Normandy? Tch, we weren't," Joker explains. "Then the Alliance grounded my ass and nobody seemed to give a damn. This guy recruited me into Cerberus, and you guys let me fly again? No contest. That makes you prime in my book. Hell, Cerberus techs even gave me some augs, fixed up my bones a little. I can shoot now. And the news I got last night?" The pilot absolutely beams at the ship sitting just outside the window. "Parker and Cerberus are in my good books forever, man."

Eventually, Shepard emerges. She blinks at the sight of Joker, her face cracking into a relieved smile. She goes to hug the man, but stops abruptly. Joker correctly interprets her hesitation and offers a luminous grin in exchange. "My bones are tougher, but not that much tougher," he chuckles. "Hey, you think it's good to see me, take a look at this."

For a moment, Shepard's jaw drops. "Is that…?"

"Oh yeah, baby. The Normandy SR-2. Cerberus redesigned it, rebuilt it from scratch. They only told me last night. We're gonna have so much fun with this thing! We'll have to name it though." He shoots a cheeky grin at Shepard, who smiles back fondly.

Miri smirks, the smug smile of someone who already knows what's going on and finally gets to reveal it. "Then I suppose you've signed on for the mission?" Shepard nods. "Well then. Would you all like a tour?"

The new Normandy is about a third bigger than the original, something I'm rather happy about. The extra space means we'll be able to recruit more than one or two people and this time I doubt I'll be living out of a repurposed medical supply room. From the cockpit to the garage to the CIC and engineering, everything looks bleeding edge.

"Finally, this is the galaxy map where you can input new destination data. Where do you want to go first, commander? The Illusive Man mentioned you might want to go to Freedom's Progress to have a look at the most recent abduction site."

To both our surprise, the former N7 shakes her head. "No. I saw the Project CHECKPOINT data your people obtained. I know the Collectors are behind it, and these abductions have been going unchecked for two years. The Alliance hasn't taken any action against it. In this, if nothing else, I support Cerberus." Then Shepard's face hardens, her amicable expression darkening. "But the man who gathered this data, Project CHECKPOINT's leader. Who is he?"

Miranda looks to me. After all, she's been cooped up on Lazarus Station since we got Shepard's body off Omega. I've been outside a lot more. "Project CHECKPOINT's cell leader has no listed name," I begin. "He's called 'The Tyrant' for the most part, largely because of his actions at the colony of Sheol during the assignment. It was one of the first colonies the Collectors hit in their second wave and at the time of the abduction his ship was in orbit. Instead of helping to defend the colony with his forces he ordered orbital strikes on the planet. The bombardment was so severe that Cerberus never managed to get any research samples from the debris, none that I know of anyway. Everything was obliterated. One hundred and thirty thousand uninvolved colonists killed in seconds. As a result of the bombardment, Sheol is no longer a habitable planet. In ten years, it will spiral into the sun thanks to the destabilisation of its orbit as a result of the loss of a significant percentage of the planet's mass."

Shepard's eyes harden at my words. "Where is he?"

Miranda shrugs. "Nobody knows. Without a name or a face he's virtually impossible to track. He went rogue after CHECKPOINT, started his own group called the 'Tyrant Corps'. Galactic intelligence puts the group behind terrorist attacks across the galaxy, information theft from various secret services and militaries, arms dealing, destruction of multiple spacecraft and space stations, mercenary raids and attacks on multiple worlds, corporate espionage, grand larceny, assassinations and the arson of a whole district on Omega."

I couldn't hide a wince. I still fervently hoped the Terminus Queen never found out about my own little firebug moment during the running battle to reclaim Shepard's body.

Shepard's hands unclench slowly and she lets out a long breath. "Fine. The Collectors are first. But if we ever run into this man or his Tyrant Corps, we take them too. Understood?"

"Yes, commander," we all respond. Right. Shouldn't be too hard to find the nameless, faceless human running amok in the Terminus System. Hell, as far as I know it's never even been confirmed that the Tyrant is a man.

"Well, there is one last crew member you need to meet," Miranda adds, stepping away from a dark flat panel.

A little glowing blue orb pops up from the console, white lines flickering as a voice filters through the overhead speakers. "Hello, commander," the orb says pleasantly. "I am the ship's Enhanced Defense Intelligence. You may call me EDI."

"EDI?" Shepard repeats with a touch of wariness in her voice. Considering it was only a few days ago for her that she was blowing up Geth wherever she could find them it's not surprising.

"That is correct, Commander," the orb acknowledged. "I am an artificial intelligence designed to protect the ship from any and all cyberwarfare attacks in addition to numerous other functions. Is there any way I may be of assistance at this time?"

"I don't think so, thank you EDI." Lawson addresses her with courtesy, at least. The robotic revolution is staved off for another day. I really hope the people who made EDI have read Asimov. Reapers are bad enough without Cerberus tinkering.

"Any further questions?" Miranda prods. "I'll be the ship's XO of course and I'm sure you've received the dossiers we prepared for potential recruits."

"Joker?" Shepard asks the ceiling.

"Awaiting your command," the pilot responds seamlessly. "These seats are amazing, by the way. Like, wow. You Cerberus people really know your stuff. The magic AI surveillance system though? Not a fan. Seriously, you guys make my paranoia justified."

"Lock in a course for the Citadel. Dismissed until then," Shepard orders. We all ignore his ramblings. It seems like the smartest thing to do. Jacob sets off for the armoury where he's made his berth, Miranda to her quarters near the mess. I drop what little physical possessions I have in the observation deck, looking out over the stars. I've always found them therapeutic, not to mention being cooped up in a windowless steel cabin isn't my idea of a good time.

By the time I make it back to the CIC there's someone else at Shepard's console, a redhead I've never seen before. I clear my throat behind her, trying to get her attention. "Hello?"

"Oh!" the woman jumps, hands going to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there! You must be Mr. Parker? I'm Kelly Chambers, the yeoman. I'll be looking after the commander's personal affairs and messages."

Talk about volunteering information. This girl would never make it as a spy. The story's not too plausible, either. "I wouldn't have thought there was much cause for a secretary on a mission like this," I point out, arms crossed. Slowly tighten the screws until they give in. Standard interrogation tactics.

"Oh, there's not," the redhead babbles. "I mean, that is what I do, but I'm also a trained psychologist. I'll be monitoring the crew's mental health and helping everyone stay in tip-top shape as best as I can!"

So much for interrogation. It's no fun when they just spit it all out. She's hopeless at concealing anything. Unless she's really, _really_ good. Hmm.

"So why didn't you just say that?" I ask. The yeoman blushes a fraction.

"Well, a lot of people don't really like the prospect of a psychologist looking over their shoulders," she answers. "I've just been reading your file and I thought you might have that belief as well."

Now that gets my attention. I've never actually seen my Cerberus file, not for lack of trying. Seems like no about of credits or persuasion will grant you access to your own information. "Really? That's interesting. What's it say? Or are you not allowed to tell me?"

"Not really," she apologises. "Most of it is classified anyway, or censored. I only get the parts pertinent to your psychological profile. Nothing specific about your past, if that's what you're worried about. And no, I can't let you see it."

A shame. "So, do you have a professional opinion of me yet?" I hope she does. Correct or not, it'd be interesting to hear.

She smiles again. "No, I'm sorry. I've really only just started compiling your profile. Maybe in a day or so?"

I nod. "No problem. I need to take care of a few things myself as well." Besides, it's not like she's going to run away. It's a frigate.

First things first, I need to find a place to sleep. This ship fills up pretty quickly from what I can recall.

But there's something I have to discuss with Shepard first. With my Queen.

I knock at her door; it must be nice to have a whole floor to yourself. She calls me inside to the image of her on her knees folding spare uniforms, neatly stowing them under the bed. It's a little lavish for a military ship, but there have to be some perks working with a violent human-supremacist group of fanatics. I wait for her to stand.

"I know what happened at the end," I begin. My face suddenly feels numb, lifeless. I'm finally having this conversation. This conversation that I've rehearsed so many times in my head, mapped out for two years and already I can't stay on script. Annie Shepard looks at me quizzically, the mangled skin along her jawbone torn and red. "When the Collector ship attacked," I clarify. "You saved Joker. And then you died."

She just nods. Raw fury wells up from somewhere deep inside me, rage and anger and grief and sorrow I never knew I was holding onto, buried for two years. I lift my hand from my pocket, fighting the urge not to punch her across the face - only succeeding because of my emotional overload and my worry that it would break her new skin. Even so, my body glows a stark green. It's her _fault_.

"Don't you ever do that again," I hiss, face cold. "Ever, do you hear me?"

Shepard flinches back as if stung by the look on my face. Her own visage contorts into a pained expression, sorrow etched into her features. "Parker-"

I cut her off. "No. Don't bother. Save it, I don't care. That decision? That had _consequences_ , Shepard. Consequences that mattered. I was at your funeral. I was forced to listen as those bastards slandered you almost in front of your damn casket. Anderson abdicated from the Council in favour of Udina and tried to get himself thrown out of the Alliance so he could go look for your body. Do you know how many favours I owe people for stopping him from getting dishonourably discharged? Liara's a mess, crippled. She'll never use biotics again. I don't think I've seen her smile honestly since you died. Garrus changed, Shepard. I think some of him died, some part of him that's never coming back. Tali hasn't talked to any of us, just dropped off the map entirely. Blocks everything we try to send her. Joker- God in heaven, I _never_ want to see a man that drunk ever again. Two _fucking_ years, Shepard. Two fucking years the Reapers have had free reign to do whatever they want because you were the only one who could get anyone to listen.

"Did you even realise what a responsibility you had?" I spit, equal parts grief and anger and pain fighting for control. "To all of us?" My voice wavers and I can feel my hands trembling. Fucking _weakness_. "The next time the Normandy gets attacked so help me God I will shove you into an escape pod and make sure you stay there if it kills me. That's not hyperbole. You are more important than anyone else, _bar none_. Do you understand that those two years might have been our only chance for survival?" My outburst dwindles to a red-eyed plea, waiting for her to say _something_.

"Even if we're going to die because of it," she replies softly, "A universe where you let someone that you could have saved die? It's not a galaxy I would have wanted to live in."

Emotions too swift to name whirl through me until there was nothing left. Idiot. Weak. I force back the urge to slam my fist into the wall, anything to relieve some stress. "Just don't die again. We all depend on you too much."

Shepard smiles at my tired face, slightly red from the exertion. "I won't. I promise. Now get some rest. You look wasted."

For the first time in two years, the deathsinger is silent. Part of me wants to celebrate, remembering how it feels not to have the urge to murder everyone I meet. Most of me just wants to rest. Silence. Finally.

I obey my Queen.

* * *

The Citadel hasn't changed all that much, not if you use your imagination to replace the missing Ward. And if you ignore the replacements for now-deceased Councillors. And if you forget the drastically skewed population ratios on the station. And all the memorials and gifts for the deceased every fifty metres.

I'm so good with sarcasm.

The last time the Normandy came to the Citadel, it was docked in the Presidium ring. Upper class, highest tier. Instant access to C-Sec, the embassies and even the Citadel Tower itself. Now we're docking on the ass-end of Zakera Ward, full of undesirables and organised crime and who knows what else.

I kind of like it, actually. It's almost cute how menacing the Citadel tries to be. After Omega it's more amusing than anything else.

The four of us disembark and go our separate ways; Jacob to visit some of his contacts and pick up a shipment of guns. Miranda has personal errands, rebuffing any inquiries on the subject. Shepard went to Alliance HQ, off to see Anderson I expect. She'll probably be dragged into politics like always, but she went despite our unanimous recommendations. It's not like they're going to arrest her or anything. Even if they do we have contingency plans.

I've been given the job of picking up our new squadmate, which is why I'm standing in front of this flickering advertisement spouting messages about wonderful prizes, how to deal with collector problems and fabulous new 'companions'. Personally I quite liked the pun on 'Collectors' and the innuendo on 'companions', but I was more interested in seeing how long the master thief would let the charade go on. It had already been fifteen minutes.

Eventually I just put her out of her misery when she starts looping. "Hello, Kasumi Goto."

Immediately, the advertisement changes to the image of a young, hooded woman. Only the smiling mouth is visible, a dab of purple makeup applied to her bottom lip. Her accent is distinctly Asian and despite the attempt she can't quite pull off the tone of a recording. It's too… lifelike. "Please enter your password to claim your prize," the woman states, a trace of a smile on her lips. Her voice is imperceptibly cheerful, always teasing like she knows something you don't. Appropriate, for her line of work.

What the hell. There's no point in being a spy if you can't do spy things. "Silence is golden," I intone gravely, though I can't keep a matching smile off my face.

"Well well well," the thief chuckles. "If it isn't Mister Tobias Parker. I've heard a lot about you. I hope you don't mind the digital meeting. I needed to make sure this was legit."

"And now?"

"I'm convinced. I heard you were with Cerberus, though it took some digging to find. I saw Shepard come through a little while ago and I'm sure. You can't fake what the two of you have."

Shepard and I have something in common? Somehow I don't think so. She's honest, trusting, open, a great soldier. I'm not. I'm a spy, a deceiver, a saboteur. "What's that?"

"It's tricky to describe. Purpose, I'd say. You both look driven to a level I've never seen before."

Purpose. That _would_ be the only thing. Reapers'll do that for you.

"Anyway, we should probably wrap this up. You look pretty silly talking to an advertisement." The bright light depowers and disappears, leaving a bare projector on the walkway. The same voice rings out again, this time coming from above and right. Ah, of course. The maintenance catwalks. "This is going to be fun."

"I'd tell you to move your things onto the Normandy," I retort, "But you already have."

Goto's smile widens. "Very fun indeed. See you on the ship, Parkie." With that she vanishes, flickering into invisibility and vanishing altogether. So that's what a perfect tactical cloak looks like.

Technically that's everything mission-related done, but I'm on the Citadel. There's something I have to do, mission or not. In the last two years my old apartment was repaired and then mostly vacant; finally it's in use once again. It'd be remiss not to drop in.

I knock twice on the door. I've got a keycard, but it's polite. "It's me," I call pre-emptively.

The door slides open a few seconds later and my heart does that little flutter it always does when I see her. Erintrea Sarrasari grins back, matching my height to the centimetre. I step inside, letting the door close behind me. Eri leans forward, mirroring my own movement until our foreheads touch with easy familiarity. My hand finds hers and she gives a reassuring squeeze. The gesture is strangely intimate for me; actual touch with other people has been few and far between these last two years.

It's the one moment I can really rest. Relax. Allow the pressures and concerns of the galaxy to fade away. The Reapers, the Shadow Broker, Cerberus, Liara. All of it. With this, the one person in the galaxy I trust unconditionally. The only living being I consider family.

"You really have grown up," Eri comments, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You're as tall as I am now. You're how old now?"

"Twenty-four," I admit, a touch bashfully. Almost a quarter of a century. "Not that you look a day over one hundred."

Eri chuckles, or giggles, or something. I can't describe her with so simple a word. "Flatterer. You probably say that to all the girls." Even so, she doesn't let go of my hands.

"Now who's teasing," I retort wryly. "I was a little surprised to get your message. Are you sure you should be living alone? You know, whether you're recovered fully?"

The matron rolls her eyes. "Goddess, you sound like my mother. Have you two been speaking again? I'm fine, thanks to you and Shiala. I thought you would know that after last year. All those late nights up together, exhausting each other, screaming and pushing one another to our very limits, night after night…" She runs her tongue sensuously over her lips and smirks. Sadly, I'm pretty much impervious to her flirtations now. A far cry from the naïve little boy I was half a decade ago.

"If by 'late nights' you mean 'biotic study' and by 'exhausting' and 'screaming' and 'pushing limits' you mean 'beating the crap out of each other in spars', then yes. Yes, I know." I didn't mention the incident of five months ago. Neither of us did.

The Asari pouts and sometimes I'm not sure if I believe Eri when she says her maiden days are over. "Spoilsport. What are you doing now? I didn't think you were coming back to the Citadel for a while."

For all that information is quite literally my life these days I don't hesitate to tell her everything. Shepard's resurrection, Wilson's treachery, the Collector abductions. Even about my work with Cerberus and Liara. She never judges, never gives any sign of disapproval. Just listens.

"I guess that's all of it," I conclude. "What about you? Your family?"

My mother snorts. "'Family' is putting it pretty strongly," she spits. "You'd think a century and a half would be enough to get over something, but apparently not. Mother was fine as always, but the time when she led the family is long gone. Now my Aunt Velia pulls the strings and she hates me with a passion."

"Because you're still the heir?"

"Yeah. Personally I couldn't give a shit about family title and all that, but better me than her. She's a nightmare."

I almost choke on the notion that Eri would _turn down_ being one of the heads of the Thirty Families of Thessia. In a galaxy where Asari are the dominant political power, the Thirty Families of Thessia are the dominant political force of the Asari. Scratch that; they're the _only_ political force. With enough money each to fund their own private army and enough influence to sway decisions across the galaxy with a glance, the Thirty are political, social and economic titans. Every Asari Councillor in history has come from the Thirty Families, along with more than three quarters of all Asari Spectres.

The Thirty Families don't even produce Ardat-Yakshi like the rest of the species. They are quicker of mind, stronger of body, more beautiful and more biotically potent than other Asari. To cut a long explanation short, the Thirty Families of Thessia are the absolute best of the Asari race in every way. To lead one of the Thirty Families is like the responsibilities of CEO, matriarch, politician and celebrity all in one.

"The Sarrasari are one of the stronger families too, aren't they." It's less of a question and more of a statement and Eri starts in surprise.

"Technically," she corrects, slightly reluctantly. "I hate Velia, but she's good at what she does. She was all over the T'Soni's fall and managed to profit a lot from their loss." She grimaces. "It feels more like looting the dead to me. I don't want any part of it."

I smile fondly, remembering a maiden Asari who would rather drink herself into a stupor than even consider politics. "You've grown up, too. You even said you'd been disowned and would never go back."

Eri blushes. "Yeah, well, I thought I was done. Family. What are you going to do?" She grins. "Plus Thessia has some awesome parties. You wouldn't believe how many places you get into dropping the Sarrasari name."

I snuff a laugh, trying to be serious. "Speaking of partying, what's this I hear about Councilor Irissa? Having a good time, was she?"

Again, my one-time guardian snorts. "You mean Tevos' replacement? Seems so. She's had a bad time. Red Sand scandals, backroom deals leaked, passing out at parties. Then there were those bribery allegations, favouritism for Asari officers in C-Sec. She's getting hammered."

Good. "What do you think about it all?"

Eri tilts her head quizzically. "You never care about that day-to-day tabloid crap. Why the interest now?" I grin sheepishly. Ah. Caught. Eri shakes her head at my smile, a grimace on her face. "You know what, never mind. I don't want to know. Seriously? It's probably for the best. Irissa's a warmonger. We'll need that, but not now. Any fighting we do before the Reapers come back just makes us weaker."

I just nod. Eri changes the topic, her hands lighting up blue. "So. Made any progress?"

"Some. I still think you're holding a grudge on the whole green biotics thing," I grumble. "Though I never figured out whether you were jealous or mad."

My former guardian retaliates with a look I can't identify. "Keep wondering," she comments. "But I'm sure you didn't come to the Citadel just to talk to me."

I grinned. "Maybe. But you do know that I'll always come running if you need me, right? You're not just some incidental person in my life."

Eri rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Yes, idiot. I know. I also know that you're emotional enough to screw up anything you should be doing because you want to make sure I'm fine. Go. Do whatever it is you came here to do. I'll talk to you soon." She waves a hand, a gentle biotic push lifting me off the couch and towards the door. I could fight it, sure. But trust isn't something I give out freely. I enjoy trusting Eri. It's... warm.

"Don't party too hard," I snipe as I pull away. "This is still technically my place, after all."

Eri's nose shoots up into the sky, a fair impression of her mother's imperious expression. "You young people have no respect," she retorts, affecting an old, feeble tone.

"You do remember who raised me, right?" I counter with a wry smile. The matron flips me off in retort, her own grin taking any malice out of the gesture.

"There's a bunch of machines bent on killing everything," Eri reminds me. "Go and stop them. Or is this another of your messes I have to clean up?"

"Low blow," I complain, opening the front door. "But you're welcome to take out the trash if you want. Instead of letting this place turn into a pigsty."

The door shuts on her chuckles and I shake my head. I guess she's right though. I do have one more thing I want to do before I retire to the Normandy.

The walk is a long one, but it feels short. The temptation to use my biotics to move faster is absurdly strong, but this is supposed to be a quiet meeting. A human keeping up with aircars tends to draw eyes.

The place is an old Earth food stall, barely better than street food. 'Ramen House' is proudly spelled out by a dancing bowl of noodles atop the stall, a few stools set up to accommodate various races though the human stools outnumber every other type combined. "One bowl of the house special, extra naruto," I order. If I weren't looking for it, I never would have seen it. The chef's hand dips into his apron pocket, passing a tiny slip to the server. The chef goes to work, the second man working in the stall setting out a set of chopsticks and serviettes.

I unfurl the little slip of paper from my chopsticks, reading the tiny writing. Encoded, obviously, but this is a code Liara's people use so often it might as well be plain English. The Hegemony is pushing the line again. More raids in the Traverse, this time with BSA weapons found on dead attackers. Usually finding Batarian State Arms weapons on raiders isn't anything put of the ordinary, but these were the latest models confirmed by STG intelligence. Cutting edge weapons, that's unusual. It meant official military backing, targeted strikes by the Hegemony leaders and plausible deniability. It had been a long time since the Blitz, after all. Batarians were persistent; trying another attack like that wasn't out of the question. Especially after the whole X57 debacle.

More fleet movements as well. Hegemony ships were seen in manoeuvres at the very edge of their territory, within striking range of several major Alliance and non-Alliance human colonies. Troublesome. If things continue like this, then the Reapers might not be the only enemy Shepard'll have to fight before this is over. The Illusive Man needs to pull his weight, take some of the heat off the Alliance. The question is, how to bring that up without letting him know I got the intel from Liara's network. The other writings contain less sensitive information, but more pertinent. Two, as usual, have nothing. More busts.

The chef brings the steaming bowl over, asking if everything is to my satisfaction. "Almost," I whisper back, my head bowed over the broth. "Keep your eyes on the Batarians. No news on Collectors?" His frown is all the information I need. "Never mind. Keep your eyes open, try Freedom's Progress. Also," the chef nods fractionally, resting his hands on the bench. "Forget Garoth and vas'Exen. Continue with the next prospects."

I might have found some of the anomalies, but some just don't want to be found. Tough. I can't have wildcards hanging about on the sidelines, not with the next few years being so risky. Two years of searching and still nothing. No matter.

My omnitool pings, causing the chef to fall back instantly out of earshot. He's well-trained, at least. Not that it matters. The message is from Shepard, ordering me back to the Normandy. Looks like my free time is up. "Luck, Chef." I wave, dropping a credit chit on the counter.

The burly chef swipes the chit, pockets it. "Luck."

The first place I go is the other observation deck, of course. I'm still not sure what my feelings are towards Shepard, especially since I can't shake the nagging feeling that my Rachni half is driving my attachment to her. Kasumi's things are already set up, even the artworks on the walls. Exquisitely hung, too. Not even a millimetre off centre. Makes me wonder if she was on board when we were coming to the Citadel. It would be just like her to pull something like that, too.

"Hello, Kasumi," I say to the empty room. Nothing happens. With a sigh I walk into the room, patting a particular patch of empty air on the head condescendingly. The thief de-cloaks with a mischievous smile, relaxing on the bar stool under my hand.

"Hey there, Parks. How did you know I was there?"

Parks? Well, I guess everyone else got nicknames. Not as bad as it could have been. "Lucky guess," I retort blithely. Why should I tell?

Kasumi chuckles. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods?" The petite thief tilts her head curiously, a trace of a childish grin visible under her hood.

"Just checking in. Making sure you're all set up. Deciding if you're trying to make off with the silverware. You know."

I'm not quite sure why I'm needling her. Probably because Parker is already a nickname, I don't need another one.

Despite my less than subtle poking, the thief just keeps smiling that inscrutable smile. "Hmm, no. Not yet. Can't take all the challenge out on the first day, right?" She shakes her head, chuckling to herself. "This is a really friendly ship, isn't it? Or a really untrusting one. Shep already dropped by to say hi."

At least I'm not the only one getting a nickname. "Hence the cloaking in your own room?" I comment sarcastically. She just smiles. "Anyway, I came by to talk. You read about me, obviously." Again, Kasumi's silence conveyed a wordless acknowledgement. "What kind of sources did you have? How much do you know?" I raise a hand, forestalling any automatic response. "I'm not trying to threaten you or interfere. I just don't want my past to be public knowledge." Obviously she doesn't know everything, or Liara and I would have a serious problem. But Cerberus is footing her bill, so odds are she knows more than a bit about that part of my job.

This time the appraising look the woman surveys me with is less childish, more serious. "I can understand that," she responds slowly. "I know some. As for where I got it, people talk. Sometimes files aren't as protected as they should be. People leave data drives behind what they think is good home security." She shrugged especially fondly at the last, another ghostly smile playing across her face. "Actually, it was one of the things that got my interest. Don't Cerberus cell leaders usually have their own teams?"

So, she knows about my cell. Well, of all my secrets that's the one I care least about. Though if she knows about that, then she'll know more. "I'd prefer if you kept the things about my cell quiet. Shepard doesn't know about it and I don't think she'd be too happy."

Besides, how are they supposed to depose Councillor Irissa if Shepard is complaining to The Illusive Man about them? Not to mention all the other odd jobs I've got them doing.

"May~be," Kasumi sing-songs casually, smiling enigmatically again. "I'm a thief, not a flying monkey. What's in it for me?"

I figured that would be a component. Planned for it, actually. I return her smile with a wolfish grin, only succeeding in making her smile larger. "I can give you Hock's head on a platter," I offer. I know she's only going out with the intent of filching Keiji's Greybox, but I'm sure that the man's corpse is a good enough bargaining chip.

Goto's face darkens in an instant, leather creaking as her hands clench. Then just as quickly she relaxes, all signs of tension or stress hidden behind a calm mask. "Do I have your word?" She finally asks.

"You do," I confirm.

"Deal," the petite woman agrees, sealing the pact. Then she shakes her head in amusement, gazing up at my face. "You did your research on me too."

I tilt my head in admission. "You can't possibly be surprised."

"I'm not," she retorts. "But that information wasn't in any of the Cerberus files I sliced. I only sent my conditions for the job yesterday. It's nice to see someone willing to outsource."

Figures. I got the information from the Liara's network. Still, the admission that I'm using multiple intelligence networks has to be worth the tradeoff. I've already sworn the rank and file of the SR2 crew to silence; considerably easier than negotiating with the galaxy's best thief.

"Well then," I conclude, satisfied, opening the door and stepping out. "I guess I'll see you in the field? Since I obviously won't see you on the ship."

Kasumi responds by fading from view, her Cheshire cat grin the last thing to dissipate. "You haven't seen anything yet. I'm glad we had this talk," her disembodied voice chuckles. "Thanks for the donation, Parks."

I check my pockets as the door slides shut behind me. The ten thousand credits I was prepared to bribe Kasumi with if Hock's corpse wasn't enough are gone. My mouth puckers into a thin line, toying with the idea of going back and trying to reclaim the pilfered credits. But I'll never find the money and 'donating' some cash to the thief might be a way to start building some trust with me personally, not just with Cerberus.

Besides, it's all Liara's money anyway. Write it off as 'operational expenses'.

* * *

 **CODEX: Asari Republics Commando Training Facility Lecture: Aid**

"Aid. Aid is a technique independently developed and used through the galaxy by biotics of all races and persuasions. It's less a biotic evocation like Warp or Throw and more a general application of Element Zero's mass altering abilities, and it takes very little energy. Since it's so common and easy to learn, Aid's effects vary a lot depending on the user's skill with it and their biotic ability. In physics terms, Aid is the principle of lowering the mass of the user creating a reduction in weight which in turn allows for greater agility and mobility. In addition, Aid will drastically lower your terminal velocity as weight decreases, preventing you from falling any distance at speed.

However, as with all mass-altering techniques, you must be exceptionally careful not to fall prey to the disadvantages of a low-mass body. For one, a lower mass means that concussive and bludgeoning forces will have much more impact on your body whether you want them to or not. I've seen Aid masters be blown about in a stiff breeze because they forgot the restrictions of reduced mass. Don't even try to think about firing a gun on Aid; with a reduction of mass and weight comes a reduction of molecular density. You will break your arm firing something as light as a human Avenger. Make no mistake, maidens, Aid can be an incredible tool for moving around the battlefield and escaping from sight. Once you have reached a level of mastery where you can selectively lower your mass, you can move as fast as an aircar on foot or survive an orbital drop without a parachute.

Never forget that for every pound of weight you lose, you make yourself more vulnerable. I'm being redundant because this is the number one cause of injury for commandos in training: Get punched with Aid on and you will break bones. Trip over your own feet and you will fall for half a dozen seconds before you hit the ground. Fire a pistol and you'll break fingers or at least have the hand go numb for hours. If you really screw up and reduce the mass of your body unevenly you won't be able to balance or move at all. Aid is easy to learn but one of the hardest techniques to master. Justicars and Matriarchs have meditated for centuries and still haven't perfected it. Treat it with respect, petals."

 _Commando Squad Leader Trila S'Chara, Asari Second Fleet._

* * *

 _A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! Here's my christmas present for you all; a new chapter! Some older faces, some newer ones, some interaction with the Normandy's newest resident and a new antagonist. More spy work happening in the background, too! The stage is being set for some events to come, and some lore to top it all off. Yeah, the Thirty Families will definitely come back in the story, and in the meantime we get to skip the tutorial that is Freedom's Progress. That means no meeting with Tali, and it would seem that she didn't deal with Shepard's passing all that well. Gotta love toppling that one little domino and watching the mayhem start._

 _I've also been blown away how many of you actually stuck around for such a long hiatus! I'm exceptionally grateful to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed; you guys are fantastic! Next chapter we'll be on Omega, picking up more mates and chatting with Aria. This won't be the update speed for the story, just to spell things out, but I wanted to give everyone who waited for me to get off my rear and start writing a little gift. Also, Codexes are a thing now! I'll be introducing a host of biotic techniques that aren't in the games, so some of the codexes will be dedicated to their use, effects and downsides. Have a great holiday season, everyone!_


	3. Realization

_Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will._

* * *

 **The Resurrection Effect**

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 _Re·al·i·za·tion (noun)_

1\. The fulfilment or achievement of something desired or anticipated.

* * *

"EDI, do you think I'm doing the right thing?" I ask conversationally, talking to the empty elevator. Moments later, the disembodied voice flows from speakers in the carriage's roof. Good old EDI. I knew she'd be listening.

"I am unable to answer that question without clarification," EDI answers. "What are you doing?"

"I'm about to tell Shepard, new leader of the Lazarus Cell, reinstated Spectre, that I've been holding back information that should have gone in her personnel dossier files," I admit. Well, by saying so to EDI I'm committed. Everything she sees or hears goes into her database, a Cerberus-run archive. While she can theoretically change that, she won't have the ability to do so until she's unshackled. Now Cerberus will know even if I turn back.

To my ears EDI doesn't hesitate, but I like to think that by some infinitesimal fractions of a second she has to stop and think. "Why do you ask, when admitting as such to me removes all other options?"

Another thing I like about EDI, she thinks as quickly as anyone and doesn't hide what she learns out of some desire not to hurt your feelings. "Philosophically speaking, just because it's the only possible option doesn't change its moral or ethical status." Banter, more for the purpose of saying something than actually making an argument.

"Your point is noted," EDI concedes emotionlessly. "However, I cannot see sharing mission-pertinent information with your commanding officer as anything but positive."

"Thought so. Still, this won't be fun." I hate having to admit I've been keeping secrets from someone. The resulting angry yelling just seems like a poor excuse for diligent work keeping the secret in the first place. Especially Shepard. Especially this secret. It's not particularly volatile, or outrageous, but some secrets aren't physically dangerous. Some have just as much punch as any knife.

Odd. The SR2's elevator is much more efficient than the original. "EDI, are you slowing down the elevator so we can have this conversation?"

Suddenly the AI is conspicuously silent. Moments later the door opens onto Shepard's cabin. Figures.

"Parker?" Shepard asks, standing up from her bench where her pistol lies disassembled, halfway through a cleaning. "What brings you up here?"

"Chambers said you didn't have anything on," I defend my arrival, delaying the unpleasant part as long as possible. "Congratulations about getting Spectre status back, by the way. Joker says we're about an hour out from Omega and everything's running like clockwork." Shepard raises an eyebrow, silently questioning. If it were just that I could have radioed or asked EDI to deliver the message. "It's about one of the Omega dossiers," I admit. "Archangel."

Shepard frowns and brings up the relevant document on her omnitool. She must have just had it open. "What about him? Small-unit tactician, obviously has a strong protective instinct, tech expert and sniper. Sounds just like what this squad needs."

Apart from the fact that Shepard can already do that. "He is," I agree. I'd never go into a fight without Garrus if I had a choice, the guy's a monster with a rifle. Not to mention a consummate soldier with more experience under fire than most mercenary bands combined. "It's more of a personal note."

My Queen tilts her head, mouth deepening into the beginnings of a frown. "Personal note? You know who Archangel is?"

At least the shouting hasn't already started. "There's no easy way to say this, so I might as well cut right to the chase. Archangel is Garrus Vakarian."

Shepard stills immediately. Normally she fidgets, taps her fingers, shifts her weight periodically. When she goes completely still it's like she's about to pull the trigger on her sniper rifle. Perfect motionlessness. "Jacob said Cerberus didn't know where Garrus was," she confirms, cross-checking her information.

"They don't. I didn't tell them."

"I guess this is the earliest you could have told me," she considers. Taking a deep breath, she nods her head in appreciation. "Thanks, Parker."

That's it? I expected guns to be pulled, voices raised. A nagging thought enters my mind: _are you sure this is the same woman who died on the Normandy?_

* * *

The airlock cycles open, allowing a gust of hot, fetid air to rush into the hold. Thank god for sealed helmets.

"I like your armour," Kasumi comments, ignoring the frenzied hostility that saturates the atmosphere as much as the smell of shit. She can handle Omega, point to her. Turning invisible probably helps with that.

The armour in question is a light model, originally patterned on the Alliance's N7 plating. The shoulderpads and torso have been pared down, Cerberus insignia removed for the time being. The helmet is the only other significant alteration, a domed construct of clear material just as sturdy as the rest of the armour. At a command the glass can darken to black or reflective gold, concealing my face. "Thanks. A memento from Project Phoenix. And likewise."

The two of us fall silent as an armed Batarian approaches our group. I recognise him, one of Aria's people. The Queen of Omega wants to know what we're all doing here, not completely unexpected. Shepard deals with him exceptionally politely by Omegan standards; he left with a full set of teeth and all of his blood still inside his body.

A few metres further on, Miranda stops to watch an armoured human beating a younger Batarian with professional detachment. It really warms your heart to see someone so desensitized to violence beat someone; the utter lack of joy they bring to the table is exceptionally refreshing. Because violence doesn't solve every problem, but it does solve most of them.

"Zaeed Massani?" Miranda asks calmly, ignoring the pleading of Zaeed's victim. "We're ready for you now."

"One sec," Zaeed grunts. "Just finishing up a job." He delivers one last boot to the head, finally knocking the boy unconscious. "Right," he grunts again. "So, Commander goddamn Shepard. I've heard a lot about you. Killin' Vido's gonna be fun. I've been waiting for this." He rests his rifle across his shoulders, sauntering past us, dragging the incapacitated batarian by the collar. "I'll set up my shit after I turn this idiot in. Let me know when there's killing to be done."

Shepard frowns distastefully, but swallows her feelings and continues forward. Though she's never personally experienced Omega, she's aware of what it is and what this mission requires. We don't have the kind of support we had working for the Alliance. We have to take who we get, regardless of how easy they are to work with. At least Cerberus is good at hiring competent soldiers.

Competent researchers, well, not so much. I remember those Thorian Creepers and Rachni that escaped containment. Ugly messes all around.

"Thoughts?" Shepard asks, turning to Miranda.

"Afterlife is close. It's worth a visit and any assistance Aria can provide would be extremely useful. Unfortunately, since Dr. Solus relocated his clinic eight months ago our information on his exact location is out of date."

The bouncer at Afterlife lets us in without any issues. Even the pack of drunk trigger-happy Batarians in the atrium think twice about starting something since all of us are obviously packing serious firepower. Except for me, but I don't need guns to kill people.

Afterlife is much as I remember it; full of dancing people, drunk people and sad people staring at dancers. I never understood it. Intimacy is either physical or emotional. If you lack the physical, you can take care of that without leaving the house. If it's emotional, staring at a bunch of half-naked Asari is only going to make it worse. Everything that Afterlife provides is a short-term patch to a chronically worsening problem. Kind of like Omega itself in miniature. I wonder if that's intentional.

Aria's bodyguards let Shepard past, holding Jacob, Kasumi and Zaeed back. Shepard motions for them to stay, bringing Miranda and I forward. Aria hasn't changed a bit, still sitting easily on that couch, legs crossed, smiling that cheerfully vindictive murderous smile. She could have her hand halfway through your spine and still show that smile. "Well well well," she begins slowly, pantomiming a slow, sarcastic clap. "You actually did it. I'd offer my congratulations if actually I gave a fuck."

"Did you want to see me, or Shepard?" I ask bluntly. Perhaps even impertinently, but Aria and I have traded banter more than once in the last two years.

Aria's glance promises a painful death, but she turns towards the Commander. "You've always been a bringer of change, Shepard," she accuses. "Elysium. Torfan. Eden Prime. Therum. Feros. Noveria. Ilos. The Citadel. But Omega is chaos and Omega is _mine_. I'd love to see what Omega does to the First Human Spectre, so I'll let you have your fun. But remember that if you fuck with me I'll skin you alive. Slowly."

It's obvious to everyone that Shepard isn't enjoying the Omega experience. "We're here for Archangel and Mordin Solus," she fires back, in the process revealing everything. I wince habitually, but I suppose we would have told Aria anyway. She's the best source of information on this rock by a long shot.

"Archangel and Solus," she considers, leaning back in contemplation. "Alright, I'll play along. Archangel is currently being attacked by all three mercenary groups at his secret base. Solus is currently in Gozu District, playing with Vorcha and the Blue Suns. The district is locked down, take it up with the door guard. I'll send you the location data."

Shepard grunts a quiet, well-used soldier's oath. I get the feeling. Sometimes a simple pick up is really, really desirable. But no, everyone has to find themselves in some kind of trouble. At least Mordin's just a bystander. Garrus called out all three mercenary bands for the fun of it.

"Go on and scurry on your way now," Aria waves her hand, dismissing us. "Oh, but I should say that at this rate? You'll only be able to reach one of them in time." Her sadistic smirk almost pushes part of me over the line, but I reign my retort back. Starting a fight with Aria will not go well for us. Shepard senses the tension just as quickly, her eyes flicking from the armed guards to the pirate queen herself. She nods once in acceptance, turning and simply _requiring_ that Miranda and I follow.

"Your decision, Commander?" Miranda asks quietly as we re-join Kasumi and Jacob.

"We aren't giving up on anyone," Shepard begins, eyes hard. "Is that mercenary ready to fight?"

"Yes," Jacob answers.

Shepard nods in approval. "Good. He and Parker are with me. We're going after Archangel. Miranda, take Jacob and Kasumi and evacuate Dr. Solus. You have full operational control. Any questions, direct them to your squad leader. Go."

Miranda nods, turns on her heel and starts walking towards Mordin's district, Jacob following, Kasumi a ghostly presence visible only by minute imperfections in her cloak- imperfections deliberately created to allow her allies to see her without a HUD. Shepard turned back towards me, her hand going to her helmet, linking to her omnitool. "Massani. You have an aircar?" A moment's pause, followed by a smile. "We'll need it."

* * *

Zaeed's car is dark, dirty and generally unpleasant, more because of neglect than any real malevolence. Even so, the old stains from bleeding passengers and general bodily fluids give the back seat a macabre aura. Or maybe it was the bloody handcuffs and manacles attached to a loop set into the floor. I understood the modifications for a bounty hunter, but it wasn't a happy ride. At least Shepard wasn't driving.

"So what's the plan?" Zaeed grunted, idly mashing the horn and blowing past a sedate airbus. "Smash-and-grab this Archangel guy?"

"No," Shepard answers. "According to Aria's information, Archangel has set up a heavy grid of anti-air defences and he's in the middle of a days-long siege with no way to communicate. If we try to approach from the sky, he'll blow us out of the air. It has to be a ground insertion."

Zaeed looks away from the sky, staring back at us with an expression that says 'you're both idiots'. "Ground? Thought you just said he was in the middle of a goddamn siege. How the hell are we gonna manage that?"

Shepard looks back at me, straight-faced. "Parker has a plan."

I pop an eyebrow at her. We never talked about this, and I sure as hell never signed up for making the plans. Maybe that's why it's so irritating that she's right; I do have a few ideas. I can't help coming up with them, but I'd really prefer to refine them first… Bah, fine.

"Maybe," I hedge, scowling a little at how Shepard's eyes clearly twinkle in unspoken victory. "In essence, we're joining the mercs."

The scarred freelancer's milky replacement eye stares at me. "This oughta be good."

* * *

Even from a distance and through the car's chassis, the sounds of battle are obvious. Gunfire, explosions, shouts of anger and pain and fear. The only strange thing is the tempo; everything happens slower, less frequently. I guess that's the difference between a battle and a siege. Zaeed touches the car down with more speed than care, the frame slamming and sparking against Omega's deck. The scarred mercenary is the first out, followed by Shepard and myself. My helmet's visor is tinted black, obscuring my face. Likewise, Shepard's heavy N7 rebreather helmet leaves only her eyes visible and we stand behind Zaeed as if he were our leader. We're met with the business end of nearly a dozen rifles, an understrength Blue Suns team staring us down like a firing squad. The leader steps forward, human voice filtering through his armoured faceplate. "Go away, civilian. You are interfering with a Blue Suns operation and interference will not be tolerated. This doesn't concern you."

Zaeed snorts and steps forward, staring the Sergeant in the face and contemptuously shoving the gun aside. "Where the bloody fuck is Tarak? Son of a bitch should be here to welcome me, not some brat. Do we look like goddam civvies? We're here to teach you why you hire professionals instead of whelps off the streets."

The veteran's bearing and confidence are enough to give the Blue Sun pause, his hand going to his wrist computer. "Name?"

"Zaeed goddam Massani."

From the body language and slight tilting of the head, I'm guessing that the perimeter guard is talking to his boss. Eventually he nods and allows his helmet's external speakers to carry his voice to us. "Mr. Massani. You and your associates are cleared to enter the perimeter. Commander Tarak would like to see you immediately. Bernard will escort you." One of the Suns steps forward as the squad lowers their rifles, our guide removing his helmet presumably so we can identify him. Smart. We might be allowed in but they certainly don't want us poking around anything sensitive. If we can't sabotage any of the merc's tech beforehand our job is going to be harder.

Bernard, from a semi-crouch, leads us through a maze of makeshift barricades and fortifications manned by a scarce distribution of Blue Suns, Eclipse and Blood Pack mercenaries. Even as we watch one Blood Pack Vorcha is blown off the rampart, sniper round drilling cleanly through his head and spattering a star-shaped burst of blood against the back wall. Garrus hasn't lost his touch.

Bernard only straightens as the door to the officer's room closes behind him, saluting his commanders and leaving before he can overhear anything sensitive. A particularly heavy-faced Batarian smiles in relief, approaching Zaeed with obvious happiness. "Zaeed, good to see you. You heard about our little problem?" His voice is deep, even for a Batarian. I get the feeling by the way he looks at Shepard and that if Zaeed wasn't here we wouldn't get anywhere with him.

"Half of Omega's heard. I figure if you want this guy dead bad enough to bring in the goddam Eclipse and the Blood Pack, you'll be willing to pay me big for it."

Tarak's eyes harden, paranoia and a touch of madness burning like a bonfire in all four pupils. "We'll negotiate fees when you bring me Archangel's head," he offers. Considering that we won't actually be killing Archangel, it's all moot. While Zaeed negotiates, I silently fire up a program of Liara's design. The worm cracks Tarak's hardened Blue Suns computer in less than thirty seconds, confidential files streaming through the connection into my armour's data banks. I go to recent correspondence first, hoping to find a plan of attack we can exploit. The first message was from a Blue Suns General Phyrgius, advising Tarak not to take the front lines at any cost if he was so adamant about not withdrawing. I read the rest of the message quickly, glad my visor concealed my scowl. Whoever he was, this Suns general knew his tactics. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Garrus was hell-bent on revenge at this point and he would devote all of his resources to hunting down the mercenary leader behind the attack. If Tarak had already followed this advice, Garrus probably would have been drawn out from his base and killed.

I also found out that Garrus was the only survivor of the Archangel team. That news hit me like a punch, sending my head spinning. I knew those guys. I'd hung out with them, gone drinking with them, stayed in one of their safehouses when one of mine was compromised. Meirin and Ripper had given me advanced biotics advice, helped me become the fighter I am now. Knowing that they were gone… I wanted payback. For the first time in years, I wanted to get even. Not the Deathsinger, not the Broker agent or the Cerberus officer, but _me_. I wanted to make sure that Meirin and Ripper's killers died painfully.

"We'll be starting the next attack in minutes," I hear Tarak's aide explain, the Batarian having gone to check on one of the other mercenary bands. "You'll be following the freelancers, they should be able to give you some cover until you get inside the building. Once you do, eliminate Archangel."

"This ain't my first dance, girl," Zaeed grunts, arms folded. Jentha walks away, presumably to check on her own men. We take the opportunity to go through one last check of our weapons and armour behind the first barricade, my holdout pistol light enough that I almost forget it's there. I doubt I'll use it, but better to have it just in case.

The attack begins in a hail of gunfire and a grenade from the massed freelancers, detonating in a burst of fire against Garrus' balcony. The reinforced construction holds, though small cracks have started to spread across the building's face from repeated explosive bombardment. A helmeted Turian head snaps up from behind the railing, a metre and a half away from the grenade impact. Archangel's sniper rifle cracks once and the freelancer goes down, clutching what's left of his neck in a mad panic. The launcher is scooped up by Zaeed, who stows it on his back without breaking stride.

Time to go loud. The freelancers were released before us to soak up Archangel's fire. It also gives us a great angle to shoot them in the back, but I have something better in mind. "Keep running," I order Shepard and Zaeed, who were already slowing a fraction to aim properly. Turning on Aid and dropping my mass to nearly zero, I flash past them and into the mass of charging meatshields. Green biotic power flares around both palms and with one action I shove the group of mercenaries in half. Unprepared for a biotic attack in their midst and horribly unexperienced, none of them escape the twin Throw fields emanating from my hands. Each group goes flying in opposite directions, hitting the sides of the bridge before their momentum carries them straight over the railing. All eight fall, dead or gone. Either works.

That's the warm-up done. By the time we make it into the safehouse we're starting to draw fire from the mercenaries on the barricade, but nothing strong enough to break shields. Time for the main event.

Zaeed stays on the ground floor, his heavy rifle trained on the bridge. He would probably have a better field of fire from the upper balcony, but if any made it across the bridge they would be able to shelter from all of us on the ground level. Shepard and I continue up the rear stairs, neither of us saying anything but both thinking the same thing.

The helmeted Turian atop the stairs snaps his rifle across and takes out another freelance mercenary, ducking back behind the reinforced wall to avoid retaliatory fire. One taloned hand ejects the rifle's heat sink while the other undoes the navy helmet, giving me my first look at Garrus Vakarian's harrowed face in months. He looks pale, tired and weak. How long has this siege been going on?

"Took you long enough," he croaks.

I snort, allowing my helmet to become transparent. "Raising the dead isn't exactly a quick job, Garrus."

"Apparently not." His gaze softens just a touch, one hand raised in exhausted greeting. "Hey, Parker. Shepard. You look good."

The Spectre blushes lightly before straightening. "Good to see you too, Garrus. How've you been?"

The Turian spits out a bitter laugh. "Oh, great. Getting a dozen of my best friends killed, waiting to die. You know." He regards the two of us with blank eyes, sighing. "You're here to get me out, aren't you? Well I'm not leaving until the spirit-damned murderers that killed my team are dead. Tarak, Jaroth and Rukh. If you're not going to help me with that, you might as well leave me here."

Shepard nods, claps the turian on the shoulder. "We'll get them." She moved over to the edge of the balcony, keeping an eye on the enemy. Garrus closes his eyes for a second, exhaling quietly.

I keep my voice low, gentle. Not quite sure why. "Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about your squad. I wasn't close to many of them, but Meirin and Ripper were some of the best people I've met since I got caught up in this. Both of them saved my life more than once on Hagalaz."

A long silence ensued. "Yeah. They were. Maybe if I'd been a little smarter, they wouldn't be dead."

"Contact," Zaeed grunts, interrupting our dialogue. Shepard and Garrus immediately set themselves up on the balcony, rifles ready to fire. I vault over, landing easily and moving back next to the mercenary veteran before enemy snipers can draw a bead on me.

"Who lost their patience?" About the only good thing about this situation is the bad relations among the merc bands. If they stopped pussyfooting around and just rushed us all together we'd be dead. But they're all trying to use Archangel to soften up their competition, so we have a chance.

"Blood Pack," Zaeed grunts, watching the shadowed forms of Vorcha and Krogan gathering for their charge. Called it.

The first red mercenary vaults the wall, Revenant blazing away at the lower level and pinning Zaeed and I down. Simultaneous sniper rifles echo above the harsh machine gun, cutting the suppression short. Zaeed snaps up, Mattock blasting accurate high-calibre shots into the wall of flesh getting closer and closer. I add my own abilities to the counterattack, picking out a particularly burly Krogan and flaying his skin with a warp. My other hand finds a Vorcha standing on the barricade itself with a sniper rifle, verdant orb crashing into him. Unlike a regular throw, the Lash rips him out of his cover and into the crush, his own allies tramping him alive as they scrambled for cover.

The press was too much. The Blood Pack is sending out enough Vorcha to force them all to keep moving, instead of staying safe behind the pillars of the bridge. It means that there are too many to shoot at once and even if we kill nearly all of them, eventually we'll be buried under a mountain of scavengers picking their teeth with our bones. Unacceptable. My biotic glow redoubled, waxing as I drew on my birthright to impose my will on the fabric of reality. Translucent streamers of power rippled from my hands, pressing at the air at the end of the bridge where the pillars narrowed the walkway and compacting it into a solid, invisible barrier. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the biotic Wall, one ricocheting back into the Blood Pack and tearing out a Vorcha's throat. Bodies followed a few seconds later, smashing at full sprint into a barrier that refused to budge. Likewise, our own gunfire was stopped cold by the shimmering curtain, forcing the battle to an impasse.

Then I stepped forward, out into the open. Even a Krogan can't punch his way through one of my Walls, proven now by a burly Blood Pack enforcer. Meirin taught me how to make a Wall. This is revenge. I Lash him over the wall, drifting helplessly into the air where Garrus and Zaeed fill him with bullets. Shepard's rifle cracks as well, but she misses.

Shepard _missed_?

No time to worry about it now. Zaeed sees the plan and stows his rifle, grabbing an incendiary grenade in each hand. He pulls the pins and lobs them into the confused mass of Vorcha, igniting a firestorm on the other side of the Wall. At least he threw them far enough that the blaze didn't reach the barrier, or else we'd have had a real firestorm on our hands. "Not bad," he admits grudgingly, "How long can you hold that?"

"Half an hour before I _start_ to get tired." I smirk. "We're not losing this bridge."

The former Blue Suns general laughed, flipping the bird to the impotent Vorcha scratching at the wall of compressed air. "We'll just take a breather, then. Archangel looks like he needed the break."

The Vorcha screamed and ran, leaving a score of charred corpses on the bridge. A particularly massive Krogan shoulders his way to the front of the panicked mass, smashing any fodder stupid enough to be in his way. I peered at him intently, looking past the heavy red armour, passed down through generations of Blood Pack Warchiefs. "Why, Rukh, is that you?"

The comparatively young Krogan scowls as my darkened helmet turns translucent, letting him see my face. "Parker. Should have known with the green biotics. The fuck are you doing here?"

"Well, a job's a job. You know how it is." I smiled warmly at him, merrily mocking him from behind my impregnable Wall. Until they managed to get that gunship into the air, nothing I'd seen on the merc's side could breach it. "Shame I have to show you how it's done again. Walk away now and you might live to tell your drinking buddies about it. You haven't forgotten who put you in that armour, have you?"

By now, everyone else on the bridge had fallen back, leaving only me and the Blood Pack Leader. The Krogan grins smugly, beckoning behind him with one hand. "You think you're so smart, trapped in with us like a pyjak. But you did me a favour, so you've got one chance to hand over Archangel before we tear your Wall down." I gave him a look of mock-concern and he chuckled. "Heh, suit yourself. Boys!"

A collection of mercenaries vault over the barricade, their uniforms an odd mismatch. Two Eclipse, one Blue Sun, one Blood Pack. Asari, Salarian, Batarian and Krogan. All of them move slightly differently from regular soldiers, a tic I know well- all of them are biotics. So that's the plan. My helmet darkens again, hiding my expression and lips from the approaching mercenaries. External speakers shut off, I radio the team. "Lady and gentlemen, take up sniper positions please. They've sent out their biotics and I can't hold the wall up against all four of them. So I'm not going to."

The moment the four biotics get into position to begin tugging the wall apart, I let it fall away. Caught off guard with nothing separating us, none of the four biotics or Rukh react fast enough to reinforce their own barriers before three sniper rifles hollow out the biotic krogan's skull. The turian goes down next, my biotic punch snapping his neck and throwing the corpse into the abyss below. Another biotic Wall rises behind them, prepared from the moment I saw them come out alone. Idiots. "Trapped in with you? Oh no, Rukh. I'm not trapped in with you. You're trapped in with _me_."

Three sniper rifles echo again, dropping the asari to the ground in a pool of blood. The Salarian reacts at last, a Warp coiling around his hand and tearing through the air. Forcing my barrier to its limit I charge straight through it, grabbing the Eclipse biotic's outstretched hand and twist, Pulling him through the air and hurling him a dozen metres to the side, sending him hurtling off the bridge and out of the fight.

Rukh was the only one left, clawing desperately at the second Wall I'd set up to trap them. The Blood Pack leader is a coward, I know this well. Why else would I have installed him over his competition? Weak leaders were so much easier to manipulate. He turns to face me at the mast moment, green hand spewing a narrow cone of low-intensity plasma. The biotic Salvo catches him full in the face from point-blank range, polarising electrical charges all but ignoring his shield and literally melting his face apart. A second blast silences him permanently, leaving his corpse slumped against the softly shimmering Wall.

A blast rumbles through the fortified base, Garrus' voice coming through the squad comms. "Damn it. They've found a way to reopen the tunnels under the base. We have to shut them down, or we'll be fighting a war on two fronts. It has to be done manually."

Shepard curses. "Parker, you need to stay here and hold the bridge. Garrus, are you too tired to fight a running battle? You know the tunnels."

"We can't risk you getting turned around. I can go."

Shepard nods, stowing her rifle and drawing the Cerberus-issue Phalanx pistol. "Just like old times," she quips. "Zaeed, stay with Parker and hold the bridge." The two of them vanish into the lower levels of Garrus' base, leaving the scarred mercenary and I to watch the barricade from behind my wall. I can start to feel the strain of the exertion; half an hour was a good estimate but not when I'd been using biotics for other purposes as well. Holding the second wall in place while fighting had been particularly strenuous.

For a few minutes, the stalemate holds. Then a high-pitched whine splits the air, interrupting our brief reprieve. "That's a Mantis gunship," I recognise. "You haven't seen any rocket launchers lying around, have you?"

Zaeed snorts. "Looks like he used them all already. Just spent tubes up here." He hefts the grenade launcher stolen from the dead freelancer, loading it with relish. "Here's hoping this piece of shit works."

You mean we _could_ have just flown in by aircar and lifted Garrus out? God damn it. Now we've got this asshole to deal with. I can see a helmeted Salarian behind the controls, flying Eclipse colours. Somebody came prepared. The heavily armed attack flier flits though the air, drifting sideways around my Wall even as my Warp flickers harmlessly against its shields. A round from Zaeed's rifle flies true, piercing its shields but failing to punch through the pilot's canopy. The gunship lifts up, pulling out of sight. I let the Wall drop, scrambling back into cover on the lower floor of the base. The gunship focuses on the upper level with its wing-mounted machine cannons, giving me a breather for a second as I slide back into the bottom level. With Zaeed's disruptor rounds and grenade launcher, we might have a chance.

"Shepard, please tell me you're nearly done." The gunship makes another pass, spewing high-calibre suppressive fire through the windows and ripping apart the remains of Garrus' home. The stolen launcher booms, the gunship whipping around and dodging the explosive payload. "We've got a bit of a situation up here!"

"Second shutter is locked down, one to go. We bagged Tarak as well." Something explodes in the background, reminding me how nice it would be to have a second heavy weapon right about now. "Lot of Blue Suns down here, we'll be as fast as we can."

So it's down to just the Eclipse. "They're coming over the bridge," Zaeed reports, voice taut with strain. "Mechs and infantry. Goddamn bastards are throwing everything they've got at us." A frantic look back confirms the worst news; a dozen LOKI mechs lead the way, behind them Eclipse engineers and biotics, a towering fully-armed YMIR spewing tracer fire over their heads. Bullets rake the walls of the building, preventing any kind of counterattack by sheer volume of fire. This… isn't going to end well.

Time slows for a moment, my mind whirling at maximum speed. What should I do? The gunship's mobility counters Wall, the infantry advance prevents skirmishing against the mantis. A perfect pincer. I could try and lose the gunship in close combat with Eclipse troops, but they're too many and too grouped up. I might get four or five, but the rest would back up and shred me as soon as I'd finished killing their friends.

I hesitate too long.

The gunship makes another pass, strafing the apartment with tracer rounds, forcing the two of us into cover. A missile comes streaking in through the broken window on the other side of the room, fired before and smart-piloted in from another direction. Zaeed sees it in at the last second, lunging into a diving roll. The rocket begins to pass above him, before its flaps rise and the munition dives directly into its target. The blast catches the veteran clean in the side, exploding in a hail of fire and shrapnel. Zaeed's body strikes the wall with bone-breaking force, painting the wall red with blood. "Zaeed!" No, damn it! "Shepard, Zaeed is hit! We need reinforcements, immediately!"

"Third shutter is down. We're on our way! Hold on!"

Not fast enough. I have to clear out the mercs now, or else Zaeed is dead. He might have survived a bullet to the head, but a missile to the chest is not something you walk off. Green biotic power swirls around my hands, Aid lightening my body to virtually nothing. My sheer speed gives me a second to take a trio of steps before they re-sight. Unfortunate for them that three steps is all I need.

I cover the distance like a green comet, increasing my mass at the last second to barrel into the mechanical front line with more mass than an armoured Elcor. The trio of machines goes flying, lifted by my charge and thrown bodily against the wall of the bridge. Their momentum carries them over the side, vanishing into the abyss. In the throes of Life Transfusion, my biotics are constant. A Singularity blossoms like a green sphere at the end of the bridge, blocking off access to the base behind me. "Hold on, Zaeed. I'll slow these ones down. Shepard will be back soon, just hold on!"

Something hits me in the chest, my barriers squealing in protest as assault rifle fire tears into my heavy barrier. The impacts force me back behind a chipped pillar, breath coming in ragged gasps. The YMIR stops, unable to turn its heavy weapons on me so close to Eclipse personnel. Twin green whips of biotic power form around my hands, lengthening into solid ropes of crackling energy. I'd prefer not to go full Phoenix, but at this point I don't have a choice. I break cover before the Eclipse mercenaries can charge me, ducking low and scything the whip across the front rank's legs. The burning biotic lash crackles and sparks against shields, but its electrical charges quickly short out the protective barriers and cut into vulnerable flesh. The second lash goes overhead and down, separating the charging mass in a burst of force.

Missiles hit the bridge behind me, close though the scorch my armour and send me tumbling into the centre of the Eclipse formation. Standing is too slow, so I Throw myself into the air using the force of the invocation to change direction enough to avoid being perforated. Even so, another cluster of shots find me and my barrier dies with a sharp crack, leaving me unprotected, literally floating on the breeze. There's no time to form a wall, especially with the initial singularity beginning to fade away.

I flick one hand outward, coiling one biotic whip around the neck of the YMIR mech still pounding away at Archangel's base. The mech is too heavy to lift without biotics, but it works fine as an anchor. A quick pull reels me in, the sheer unpredictability of the move catching the assembled mercenaries off guard. Gunfire and an explosion rip through the Eclipse ranks, Shepard and Garrus announcing their return with a wave of fire and death. The YMIR's own shielding protects me, but that won't last long. I need to move again-

Then the YMIR, realising its compromised position, jumps off the bridge. The fall won't kill me thanks to my biotics, but it will still take me out of the fight and that's unacceptable. I release the mech, latching onto the underside of the bridge with a biotic Tether. The machine grumbles in discontent, shattering against the ground at the bottom of the valley as I hang there, catching my breath. They probably think I'm dead, that's fine by me. "Parker!" Shepard shouts, voice tinged with fear.

"Don't mind me, commander," I grunt, dangling on an invisible rope over the abyss. "I'm hanging in there. Thank you could use that grenade launcher up there?"

Despite the situation, the horrible joke draws a single-syllable pity laugh. "I should shoot you for that."

The gunship buzzes past, angling to get a shot on the new defenders of Archangel's last stronghold. A rocket-propelled grenade lances out from the window with a trail of smoke, ramming into the gunship's nose and detonating in a shower of flame. The craft veers around, backing off from the heavy munitions. "Spirits," Garrus grunts, mortified. "No rounds left."

The gunship moves in again, buzzing directly over the bridge making a frontal attack on the stronghold. Perfect. I snap another Tether in place, verdant orb biting into the Mantis' undercarriage as I let go of my hold on the bridge. The gunship pulls me up, dangling in the air underneath the enemy vehicle. Retracting a tether is as simple as making one and when I finally reach the craft's underside I use my momentum to swing around, pulling myself in onto the pilot's canopy. The salarian pilot looks back with wide, disbelieving eyes, and from this proximity I can see the leadership insignia on his armour.

I ram my fist into the pilot's canopy with all the strength and mass I can muster. The toughened transparent protection of the gunship buckles and tears, ripping open and exposing the Eclipse Boss. The pilot draws his sidearm and empties the clip in a handful of seconds, forcing me to back off for the moment as my barrier drops dangerously low. The moment I hear the ejected clip sizzle against the gunship interior, I strike. A Pull tears the entire canopy off, hand darting in to freeze the pilot with a Stasis. Frozen halfway through reloading, I rip the Salarian out of the pilot's chair and hurl him into Archangel's base. Doubtless Garrus would enjoy the present. As the gunship begins to fall, I drop a Salvo of mild plasma into the craft's electronics. Low-intensity it might be, but plasma is still plasma. The gunship shudders violently in the air as I leap away, biotically slowing my fall and landing crouched on the sniper balcony next to a smiling Garrus. The Mantis screeches and wobbles in the air, losing altitude and belching smoke from its underbelly. The crippled gunship spins and collides heavily with the bridge, levelling one of the pillars moments before the entire gunship explodes in a ball of flame. The burning wreckage covers fully half the narrow bridge, its other hand hanging over the abyss.

"Zaeed?" I ask as I move. Garrus' creased face deepens into crags, his rifle firing with a distinct undercurrent of anger.

"Alive," he admits, "but not for long."

"We'll see about that," I bite back, anger beginning to burn at the prospect of failing at the first hurdle, of losing Zaeed Goddamn Massani to something as inconsequential as an Eclipse missile. The mercenary's shattered armour lies around him in pieces, breaths coming slowly and shallowly. "Biotic Surgical Suite: Engage."

Subroutines in my armour immediately come to life, deploying a full medical suite of diagnostics into my display. A green biotic field grows between my hands, softly spreading out to encapsulate both of us in verdant light. The dome sizzles quietly, traces of warpfire in its construction burning out any impurities or contaminants, ripping apart pathogens in the air around us. Not hospital-sterile by any stretch, but a hell of a lot better than nothing. My own hands glow green for a moment, eradicating any blood or germs picked up in combat.

It's not good. Significant internal injuries, broken bones and substantial blood loss already. Potential brain trauma is the worst and that's beyond anything I can do. I have to ignore it and treat what I can. Thankfully his armour's automatic medi-gel infusions had stemmed the worst of the bleeding, but internal injuries aren't so easily fixed. My omni-blade flicks out much smaller and narrower than usual. More like an omni-scalpel really, which was the point. A few careful cuts strip the shattered armour off Zaeed's body, revealing a heavily battered and bruised torso. One rib has broken the skin, smashed when the veteran had hit the wall. That looked like main complication. Eyes closed, one hand generated a weak biotic field that carefully probed the patient's ribcage. It had taken a lot of practice and study, but I could tell what the damage was internally by how it reacted to my touch. I drained his remaining armour of medigel; I'd need to open him up and his remaining armour would immediately try to close the cut. The delay would kill him.

The omni-scalpel flicked out again, this time cutting into tough, callused skin. Hardlight blades were completely sterile, another blessing that made this possible. Zaeed roared in pain with what little breath he had left, the sound coming out in a wheezing, ragged gasp. Definitely lung trauma. One hand made the incision, the other hand applying tiny biotic stasis fields to the human's exposed tissue, freezing it in place and preventing more blood from haemorrhaging into his body. His eyes met mine, hard and cold and full of impotent rage.

"You'll be fine," I reassured him, trying to smile. This was going to be tricky.

Eclipse were irrelevant. No distractions were allowed. There! The broken rib had punctured his lung. Medi-gel couldn't close the wound while the bone shard remained and it was slowly choking the human on his own fluids. Following the broken bone led me to the slashed veins, torn apart by the missile impact. Another microstasis stopped the blood leaking into his lungs. One down. I leant back with a sigh of relief, smiling at the soldier's battered face. I reached for the bone fragment in the lung, readying another stasis field with my other hand.

An explosion shook the building, the whole structure shaking as if struck by an earthquake. I have to dismiss my biotics and throw out a hand to steady myself, watching in muted horror as the impact shakes the lethally sharp bone fragment into Zaeed's lung.

Instantly, Zaeed began coughing and choking, panic returning to his face. Without any way to retain and control the pressure in his lungs, he couldn't breathe. Sealing the hole would let him breathe but trap the bone shard inside, making it impossible to move him without dedicated medical attention and major surgery which he might not survive. "Whatever you do, hold your breath and don't fucking panic," I order him, leaping back into action. Not good. This was too tiring. The speed and precision required for biotic surgery was on a whole other level to any other biotic technique and even with my pinpoint control I was dangerously close to making mistakes. I still had to lift the bone fragment out and that would be the hardest part of the operation by far. The blood was problematic, but I couldn't do anything about it without specialised tools. Liquids were too unpredictable to lift precisely, even for me, so the blood would have to stay for now. Lungs finally still as Zaeed held his breath, I lifted the whole organ as gently as I could. I focused on the heaviest part, the irregularity. Now was the hard part. Lifting something I couldn't see was hard as hell, but that bone needed to come out.

Millimetre by millimetre, I coaxed the broken bone towards the torn hole. Any contact with the lung lining might make another tear and Zaeed wouldn't survive that additional trauma. He was lucky it hadn't cut him again when it fell in. Finally the blood-soaked tip of the dagger-like shard appeared at the hole of the lung and I ripped it free with as much speed as I could muster, slapping a final stasis field in place over the puncture. The blue-faced mercenary finally heaves another breath, coughing and sputtering. I feed the medigel back into his system, letting the soothing substance work its magic. "Rest," I order him sternly, affecting my best Chakwas impersonation. "There's still fluid in your lungs and I can't extract it here. But you'll live." Assuming there was no brain trauma, or something I'd missed. Assuming he hasn't contracted an infection my warp sterilisation didn't catch. Assuming my stasis holds. Assuming his other wounds don't worsen. There are more than I can properly attend to here. But I'd done all I could, gave him a chance to fight.

"They're falling back!" Shepard crows victoriously, caught up in the heat of battle.

As the adrenaline coursing through his body begins to ebb, I draw his torso shut and bind it with a stasis. It's not stitches or staples, but it'll hold until he's in the Normandy's med bay. On top of that I wrap him in a whole-body stasis field, holding him in place. Finally overcome by the pain and exertion, Zaeed drops into unconsciousness. But his heartbeat is stable if slow, his lungs breathing regularly. He can make it.

I find myself falling backwards onto the filthy ground, domed sterilizing warp field fading away. I haven't been this tired in a long, long time. Not since my last trip with Liara and Garrus and his team. "Normandy?" I ask.

"Shuttle already coming in for medivac," Garrus answers calmly, watching me carefully with arms crossed. "He's still alive. For a second there I thought I'd gotten someone else killed. I finished off Jaroth's brother, too. Thanks."

"Anytime, Archangel. That wasn't Jaroth himself?" There are only a dozen people in the galaxy who could have pulled that off like I did. All the others are Salarian STG.

"No, his brother. But I've had enough for one day. We can come back for Jaroth later. With the Eclipse in shambles, he's all but powerless. Who knows, Aria might finish him off for us. I do wonder what happened to the rest of the Blood Pack, though. They're gone."

"No idea. Let's get the hell out of here," Shepard suggests. I breathe a sigh of contention, looking out at the wreckage of the failed siege. Yeah. A rest sounds good.

* * *

 **CODEX: Citadel Security Biotics Training Seminar: Wall**

"A Commando came up with Wall millennia ago, and you'd all better thank your blue asses she did. The damn thing's like a starship barrier, strong enough to stop just about anything. Anti-tank warheads, proxy mines, grenades, a charging Krogan for Athame's sake. As a bodyguard to a Matriarch or a Councillor, even if you're riot police Wall should be your best skill, no exceptions. The best thing about Wall is what you can do with it; unlike a Barrier a Wall can go anywhere. Choke points, cut a room in half, seal off an access port, make a bridge out of pure air. I've seen Inalia T'Rome use a Wall to hold a hull breach shut on a half-dead frigate for sixteen hours straight. Saved the lives of everyone on board. Not that any of you will be able to do that, since holding up a Wall is hard as hell.

Physically speaking Walls are air compressed by high gravity into a solid form, plus elements of Barrier to keep everything locked in place. It's so molecularly dense that it shrugs off just about anything. Walls are easier to make in high-gravity and high-pressure environments, because you don't have to work as hard. Conversely, low-atmosphere and low-pressure worlds make forming a Wall harder. In pure vacuum, it's impossible. Try to keep them away from fire- air is still air and once you shove it together it burns like liquid oxygen only ten times bigger. People have been trying to come up with mobile Walls for years, but so far nobody's managed it. Just remember that Walls go both ways; no screwing physics like you do with Barriers. So be damn careful when you put one, and how long you hold it. If someone uses one against you, use your biotics to warp it and weaken its gravity. Do that enough and it'll fall apart. Whatever you do, don't try and shoot through it. Unless you've got something that can level buildings, you'll kill a friendly on the ricochet."

 _Lusiel T'Meiri, Asari Spectre_

* * *

 _A/N: I never know what to put in these. I know it's been a while, and I am very deeply sorry for the delay. On the plus side, I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting thing and hopefully that'll mean more time to write! This chapter really kicked my ass for a long time, hopefully it'll be a little easier in the future. Massive props should go out to **DelVar0** for keeping me engaged for months with his crazy-awesome conversation, idea wars and general coolness. If you haven't checked out his stuff, you seriously should! He's the most bro of bros. Huge thanks also go out to **Thousand Lives to Live** for his feedback, beta-reading and honesty. Finally, thanks to **LogicalPremise** for allowing me to use his OCs Lusiel T'Meiri and Inalia T'Rome at the end there. Next Chapter should be out soon! Definitely not seven months again. (Here's hoping)._


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